


Black and/or White

by Shaish, Stringlish



Series: Wings [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Bucky with wings, Canon Divergence, Cats, DAMN RIGHT, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/M, Gen, I NEEDED IT, I'm not sure of all the pairings yet, Kind of slow build up, M/M, Minor self harm in one chapter, Polyamory, Post-Winter Soldier, Some comic-related things but not a whole lot, Split Personalities, Steve with wings, We'll see what happens - Freeform, Wing AU, Wings, Wings AU, everyone with wings, kind of, omg, poly avengers, polyamorous avengers, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 52
Words: 290,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaish/pseuds/Shaish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stringlish/pseuds/Stringlish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wing AU. Follows a lot of canon and has some from the comics but not everything for either.</p><p>I just really needed an AU where everyone had wings and I only found like. One. And. Seriously? Just one? I don't think so.<br/>So I took matters into my own hands. Cackles.</p><p>And in case you were wondering, this isn't a fantasy au. Everything is the same type of world as the mcu and comics, they just have wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drift

**Author's Note:**

> Gina is betaing for me ( _AGAIN?_ OMG SO PLEASED) and has kind of screeched at the first three chapters at least, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Again I'm. Mostly writing for myself, because damn it I want a wing fic. So, I like it, but I hope you guys enjoy this as well.
> 
> Also THANK YOU TO GINA for kicking my butt because the first draft of this was looooooooooool no. It was bad. It was awful. None of us were pleased. She stopped me from crashing and burning ( _again omg_ ) and just. Send her your love and praise and worship, like you _do_. And as it should be.
> 
> Alright, let's get this show on the road.

_Dietro non si torna_

_Non si puo tornare giu_

_Quando ormai si vola_

_Non si puo cadere piu_

_Qui non arrivano gli angeli_

 

 

“Captain Rogers.”

“Ma’am.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Of course he doesn’t want to talk about it. About any of it.

Silence.

She shifts, sliding one leg over the other, skirt comfortably tight around her legs. “Let’s talk about something else,” she starts, “How was your morning?”

Steve shifts slightly in the cool lighting of the room, wings tight against his back between himself and the couch. “It was fine.”

Her expression and voice remain impassive, neutral. That’s why they hired her. “Breakfast?”

Steve doesn’t reply for a moment, thinking it over. Coffee doesn’t really constitute breakfast, but he’s had to make do before and it’s fine. It is. “Coffee.”

She doesn’t jot anything down in a notebook or raise a skeptical eyebrow, nothing to make him any more on edge.

Still.

He grips his knees slightly where his hands are resting, just barely keeping in the urge to tap his foot.

She leans to the side, resting an elbow on the arm of her plush chair and lacing her fingers together, wings shifting into a more comfortable position behind her as she calmly stares him down. It’s starting to wear on him in the way silence makes people want to talk. But he doesn’t want to talk.

“Look, Captain. I’ll be honest. It’s only been seven days since you were found. And your time in the ice-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Steve cuts her off. He only feels a little bad for doing it, but his need to keep the subject from being vocalized right now far outweighs his sense of decorum.

She purses her lips but nods, not taking it personally. It’s her job. She uncrosses and recrosses her legs as the blood flow gradually constricts - he can hear it - gray wings just slightly shifting again in time behind her with the movement.

“What are your plans for today?” she asks.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek and glances at the clock. One hour and ten minutes left.

She knows he’s on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s schedule.

He thinks he might snap before the allotted time is up.

But still, it’s better than being left to his own thoughts. Anything is better than that. Because he remembers-

 

_“Come dance with us!” Bucky’s bangs are sticking to his forehead in a light sheen of sweat and his eyes are bright and alive, dancing with his excitement, white wings shifting restlessly with it behind him. The warm lights of the bar bounce off of them in soft shades._

_His smile is wide and shows his teeth. Steve’s lips twitch up involuntarily._

_“I don’t know, Buck. You know I’m not much of a dancer,” Steve says, which is only part of the reason he wants to stay at the table and nurse his slowly warming beer._

_“Oh come on, Stevie. **Half** the people here don’t know how to dance. All you have to do is **move** ,” Bucky encourages, eyes darting to the slight movement of Steve’s narrow wings. His eyes soften a little because he knows what this is really about. They light up again after a moment like a rekindled flame. “She don’t care, Stevie, I checked. Come on,” Bucky tugs gently at Steve’s elbow._

_Steve lets himself be pulled up with a sigh, yanked into Bucky’s overheated side and the shelter of a wing, half finished beer bottle abandoned on the table. Steve’s wings are so small in comparison, one of Bucky’s engulfs both appendages like a blanket._

_Bucky grins at him and Steve can’t help smiling back, eyes dragging to the two girls Bucky’s guiding him to._

_One of them is smiling shyly at him and her light brown wings give a small, nervous flutter at her sides. Maybe it will work this time. Maybe she won’t **care** -_

 

“ _Captain Rogers_.”

Steve blinks back to the present and refocuses on Dr. Morrison. She leans back into her chair, relacing her fingers over her stomach. She’s said his name more than once, then.

“Yes,” he says steadily.

“Where were you?” she asks, voice still as measured and calm as ever, but her eyes narrow slightly.

“Nowhere,” he says, eyes darting back to the clock ( _one hour left_ ) before looking back at her. There’s so many clocks in the future, like mankind is trying to count down to something meaningful when all there is is _more time_.

“Nowhere at all.”

\--

“How did your session go,” Fury says rather than asks, because this is mandatory, not an option, and he doesn’t ask out of courtesy.

“Fine,” Steve says, standing before Fury’s desk. Because _he’s_ fine, even if he can still feel cold wind at his back-

He catches long white in his periphery giving a halted motion as it tries to shift back, but he keeps it where it is, where he can see it. He won’t be a coward.

Fury’s eye narrows at him fractionally before he leans back in his tall, black chair, dark gray wings as still and steady behind him as they have been since Steve met him. They never give anything away. Steve wishes his own would do the same.

“If there’s nothing else,” Steve says, turning to leave.

“There is,” Fury says before he can turn all the way, and Steve turns back, face schooled.

“I’m assigning a protection detail to your apartment building,” which means there’s probably two, “They’ll keep an eye on you and they’ll be on the look out for any threats,” which means they’ve actually been there watching him the whole time.

Steve keeps his hands from curling into fists at his sides and his expression blank. What can he say to that right now, when he’s deemed ‘ _unstable_ ’ and has become an old stranger in a new world that changed overnight and the past seventy years. Maybe nothing, but-

“To protect me from myself, others from me, or _me_ from _them?_ ” Steve asks, and if he sounds a little testy then it’s because he’s been treated like a fragile antique that belongs in a museum since he woke up. No matter how many men he took down trying to escape, still covered in ice and soaked to the bone.

Looked at but never touched. Talked _about_ but never talked _to_. Even if he does feel a little fragile and doesn’t want to talk to anyone yet, that doesn’t mean he wants them _knowing that_ and _treating him_ that way.

Fury watches him, Steve _and_ his wings, before he replies. “All of the above.”

Well, at least for once he’s being completely _honest_ with Steve. It’s not that he lies, exactly, it’s that he tells you the _bare minimum_ of what you need to know and leaves it at that. If Steve were taking orders that’d be fine. In fact, in a way, that’d be a comfort. But Fury telling him it’s _seventy years_ in the future and _what exactly that means_ for the world Steve’s woken up to are two _completely_ different things. And Steve could have used more of the truth before he started experiencing the world as it now is.

As it is, he doesn’t interact much with anyone. Or anything.

Fury leans forward and starts going through the papers lying on his desk, effectively dismissing Steve. “That’s all,” Fury says, and Steve finally turns to go.

He gets the door of the office pushed open before he pauses, stepping out the rest of the way to hold it open for the woman with the reddest hair and equally reddest wings he’s seen a few times since waking and being brought to DC. She’s dressed in all black and the red stands out like a beacon, or a lure. He can’t decide which.

“Captain Rogers,” she greets calmly.

Steve’s still not sure what to make of her, so he keeps things simple, “Agent Romanoff.”

She smiles at him like she knows what he’s thinking before her eyes are on Fury and she passes through the doorway. Steve lets the door fall closed behind her and heads down the long, gray hall away from the office.

\--

He throws his leg over his motorcycle in the Triskelion’s parking garage and folds his wings tight to his back to keep them from dragging in the wind, ignoring the slide of white feathers in his periphery. He also ignores the looks aimed his way by the agents heading into the building, some of them younger than he is, and some older. But he can’t escape the fact that when it comes down to it, regardless of physical age, he’s the oldest living thing in the entire building.

The motorcycle starts up with a roar and for an instant he’s back in 1944, _riding through the forest and facing down a tank, going straight for Schmidt after_ -

He shakes his head slightly and revs the engine, putting it into gear and pulling out of the parking space, taking off down the long paved parking garage and out into the afternoon sun.

 

_“Wait-” Peggy pulls him down for a kiss._

_“Let me take’er for a spin, yeah?” Bucky shoves playfully at his shoulder with a grin._

 

Cars remind him of Peggy and motorcycles remind him of Bucky, but everything reminds him of something these days.

\--

The door’s kicked shut to his apartment with a foot and he drops his keys and brown leather jacket onto the table by the kitchen as he passes, lights off and room dim with the curtains still pulled shut over the windows. He’s opened them twice since getting assigned the apartment.

He heads straight for the bathroom and flicks the light on, stopping for a moment to look in the mirror over the sink. His eyes dart to his own in the reflection before immediately looking over his shoulders like they always do. And, like always, they slide away soon after. He can never look at them for long.

Steve undresses, letting the clothes hit the floor where they may and leaving them there the way Bucky used to, heading over to the shower and turning it on. He steps in when it’s cold and pulls the shower curtain closed behind him, leaning his hands on the tile and letting his head hang under the cold spray. He lets his focus loosen in the feel of freezing water soaking through his hair, his wings, sliding over and down his back, his arms, his legs, while his eyes stare down at the tub. Memory slowly flows over them like the slide of an overhead projector and all he sees is snow and rocks and down down _down_. If he tries, he can barely make out the paint turning the water white against the white snow as it runs down the drain.

Steve doesn’t look back at his wings because he’s seen it before. He’s seen it countless times. And each time it’s like watching color fall in reverse, and he can hear Bucky’s angry voice in his head over the sound of him screaming as he falls demanding:

 

_“Why did you let them do it.”_

 

Steve closes his eyes to it, wings trembling slightly against his back from something other than the cold and pushes himself up, reaching over for the soap and turning the water nozzle to hot.

He steps out after he’s finished and dries himself and his wings off without looking at them, lets the towel drop to the floor with his clothes as he heads over to the sink.

He pulls the dye that Fury gave him out of a cupboard and holds it up, staring at it for a long moment before he finally lets his eyes flicker up to the mirror-

 

_It’s the universe’s irony, Steve thinks, that the only color that can cover his own is the one that belongs to Bucky. That Captain America will make that color far more celebrated than any other, that it will be acceptable, when before it was nearly as much of a stigma on society as Steve’s still are._

_At least one of them will finally fit in._

_He doesn’t think Bucky would appreciate it. In fact, he’s sure Bucky will be **mad as all hell** when he finds out-_

 

Steve pulls the top off of the can and starts spraying, ignoring the long, dark feathers brushing against his calves and Bucky’s voice demanding in his head again, “ _Why did you let them do it._ ”

When he’s done and the dye has dried, Steve curls up into a ball on his side, the bed they outfitted his apartment with larger than both Steve and Bucky’s old ones _combined_. He shifts his left wing up to cover his side in an imitation of how Bucky used to cover him with his own when he curled up behind Steve and tried to help him settle his breathing late in the night.

Steve stares across at the white for a few minutes, and gradually his vision starts to blur. He closes his eyes to the sting at the backs of them and tries to swallow passed his closing throat. But finally, he gives in and lets himself fall a little more apart, curling into himself tighter with nothing but the sounds of his own wracking sobs filling the too large, empty apartment.

There’s a demolished alarm clock on his nightstand.

\--

Someone sits down with their tray across the table from him in the S.H.I.E.L.D. cafeteria but Steve doesn’t look up from his book, held open in his right hand with his wrist propped against the edge of the table and his own tray set in front of him.

“Agent Romanoff,” he greets steadily, eyes remaining on the page.

“Captain Rogers,” she replies, voice as calm as he’s heard it so far.

Steve slides another spoonful of applesauce into his mouth while his eyes scan the pages, listening to the near silent _clink_ of silverware against her tray as she eats.

It’s a few minutes before he finally says, “You don’t usually eat with others.”

She takes a moment to reply, swallowing her own bite of food. “You noticed.”

It’s not a question and Steve stays quiet, turning the page of his book with his thumb. He doesn’t say anything about relating, about feeling like a spectacle or a new source of amusement for most of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s agents. Even if it’s true, that others see him that way, somehow he doesn’t think it’s true of her. He doesn’t know much about her and she’s hard to read, but what impression he does get isn’t like that at all.

“You’re one of the few who don’t look at me like you’re trying to undress me with your eyes or like you’re afraid,” she says after a few more minutes of silence interrupted by turning pages and quietly clinking silverware, “And _I’m_ one of the few people who views _you_ the same way.”

Steve hears the smile in her voice and lets his eyes glance up to see it. It’s small and curls up the edges of her lips just _so_. It reminds him of a cat.

“Are you,” he says, not a question, staring back at her as he lowers the top of his book down a little towards the table.

Her smile widens slightly as she stares back at him, taking another bite of her chicken before sipping her water.

He’s not sure what she wants or if she’s after something, if she was sent by Fury or really does just want the company. He’s not entirely sure if _he wants_ company at all. But he hasn’t said anything to anyone of his own volition since shortly after waking up, and even if getting him to talk to _someone_ is the point of her being here, he finds he doesn’t mind as much with her as opposed to if it were someone else. He gets the feeling she knows what not relating to anyone, or not wanting to talk to people but having to regardless, might be like.

Steve lets his eyes go back to his book, raising it back up as he takes another bite of applesauce, and tries to decide if the feeling in his chest is relief at finally having someone or something to talk to - to _relate_ to - or apprehension.

\--

After three weeks, lunch with Agent Romanoff- _Natasha_ , gradually becomes an almost everyday thing. He’s still not sure if it’s Fury’s and his therapists’s doing or not, but he finds that he doesn’t entirely mind.

Steve’s met agent Coulson, who is…something else. His white wings had caused Steve’s own to flare in surprise since they were the first he’d seen since waking, while Coulson’s had shuffled almost shyly behind him even though his expression remained one of a quiet sort of polite excitement. He’d asked Steve to sign his Captain America trading cards (“ _They’re near mint_ ”) and appeared to be a huge fan, and awkward as it was, Steve hadn’t really known what else to do but, well, sign them (and it's not the strangest thing he's done, signing his own pictures).

He’s seen how Coulson seems ostracized by the other agents, and he’s not sure whether it’s because Coulson’s wings are white or because he’s as hard to read as Natasha, albeit in a different kind of way, or both.

He’s also met Natasha’s...Steve’s not sure what he is to her, but his name is Clint Barton and he’s apparently very good with a bow. Steve’s not sure how to handle Coulson, but Barton likes to tease him a lot like some strange but welcome mix of Bucky and Falsworth, and it makes him feel a little more at ease.

A lot of things still remind him of Bucky.

\--

“Do you know how to work a microwave?”

“ _Yes_.”

Natasha smirks at him like she knows better (she does that a lot) and Steve feels his cheeks heat for the first time in what, for everyone else, is decades, and for him is _weeks_. Sometimes, it feels like decades for him, too, so it’s a welcome change, if a surprising one. He saw a lot during the war, wasn’t entirely sure he _could_ still blush. He’s not sure if that’s a sign that he’s still the same _good man_ Erskine told him to be or not, but he likes to think it is.

Steve pauses. Natasha raises an expectant brow.

“I may...be having trouble figuring out how the defrost works,” Steve admits in a slightly embarrassed mumble.

Natasha’s smirk widens and for a moment he sees Bucky sitting across from him, teasing him about not being able to boil water properly. He blinks a few times and the overlay is gone, red hair and wings where brown and white just were. He thinks he sees her eyes soften a little at something she must catch in his face before the playful glint is back and she’s saying, “Would you like me to get _Coulson_ to _show you_ -”

“God no,” Steve cuts her off. Natasha hides her smile by taking a drink of her orange juice.

\--

For the most part, he’s stopped turning every time he sees something he thinks Bucky would like or hate for Steve to tell him about, but it still happens, sometimes. Fortunately, there’s not many people around when it does happen, that or Steve manages to catch himself just before it becomes obvious to everyone what he’s doing.

Natasha asks him about Bucky once, but Steve shuts down faster than the plane he’d crashed into the Arctic and she doesn’t bring it up again.

\--

He now takes warm showers more than cold ones these days.

But sometimes the freezing water feels more like home and familiar to him than the warm.

\--

Steve jogs out in the rain in a soaked through hoodie after the battle in New York. After fighting with and becoming _the Avengers_ and meeting _Tony Stark_ , who paints the ends of his dark brown wings gold tipped red and is flashier than a _peacock_ , in _every sense_ of the word. Who, unlike his father’s tempered lightning personality, is essentially _lightning_ that’s constantly _breaking out of_ a _bottle_.

He doesn’t exactly _like_ Tony, and Tony doesn’t exactly _like_ him, but there’s a level of respect there and they can see each other now beyond the ghosts of their own respective pasts.

Steve’s just started going around the edge of the park when he hears, “Freak!” and stumbles to a stop. His eyes dart back to his wings as the panic rises up in his throat.

It’s been a few months since he woke up, and he’s seen how the world’s changed in regards to…well, a lot. But some things haven’t progressed as far as he would have thought seventy years would allow them to and he can’t fight the fear rising up in his chest the same way it _always_ has.

They told him the twenty-four hour water protectant would actually _last **twenty-four hours**_ , and he’d even tested it _himself_ before going out to fight in the alien invasion. But what if _**this time** it didn’t work_ , what if this time someone _sees_ -

They’re still white.

“What’s it to you?!” the voice of a young girl shouts back, and Steve’s head snaps around as his eyes look for the source of it. They finally lock on a group of kids with bouncing umbrellas as they jostle someone Steve can’t see in front of them.

The park’s mostly empty since it’s raining save for Steve, the kids, and the occasional passerby who either ignores the shouting or looks at it sadly but carries on and proceeds to do nothing.

Steve _never_ does nothing.

He walks over.

“Just _look_ at these,” one of the kids says cruelly, a hand reaching forward to-

 

_“ **Worthless no-color**!” one of the kids shouts._

_A fist breaks his nose and blood trails down his chin. He brings his arms up to try and defend his face._

_“Freak!” A foot kicks his shin and he bites his tongue._

_“ **Look** at these ugly things.” A hand grabs his left wing and pulls it forward with a sharp jerk and Steve lets out a pained yelp-_

_“ **HEY**!”_

 

“Hey!” Steve calls out as he gets closer. The three kids quickly turn towards him, eyes angry and saying, “What do _you_ want?!” until they get a good look at him, wings flaring out suddenly in shock.

“Captain America!” one of them shouts.

“Shit! Run!” Another says, and they all take off before Steve can say anything else. He lets them go, watches them scurry through the park before turning his eyes to the girl.

Steve blinks, his own wings flaring out a little in surprise, taken aback.

Her wings are black until three-fourths of the way down, where they fade out into solid white at the bottoms. She can’t be more than thirteen.

They stare at each other, her eyes a little wider than his before they go defiant, dark soaked bangs dangling over her eyes and arms crossing over her chest, waterlogged wings arching up in the rain. For a minute, all Steve can see is Bucky. It doesn’t happen as often anymore, but it _does_ still happen. “You going to yell at me too?” she demands, but there’s something in the set of her shoulders that Steve recognizes in the way his own used to be. The way they still get sometimes.

His eyes soften a little and he shakes his head, wings lowering from their surprised position into something more submissive and he offers her a small smile. “No.”

Her posture relaxes a little and her wings come back down to her back, but she still eyes him warily, just as soaked through by the rain as he is.

“You should find somewhere to stand,” he says after a few moments, and she blinks up at him, rain water dropping from her lashes and trailing down her cheeks, “The rain just makes the cold worse.” He doesn’t tell her to go home or ask if she even has one, he knows what getting asked both of those questions is like and he’d hated them just as much as he thinks she will.

Her eyes dart to the side before she gives a nod and runs past him. He half turns to watch her go but she pauses about ten feet away and turns back around, looking straight at him. “Thank you, and not just for helping,” she forces out, and Steve blinks. “For also, you know,” she gestures at his wings and they twitch slightly in unease, “For making the world see almost half of my wings as something good.” Steve swallows. “You can’t know what it’s like, being half in half out all the time. So it’s nice. To have at least _some_ shelter.”

Steve turns his head slightly to look back at his wings before his eyes dart to the side. He looks back at her after a moment. “You’d be surprised.”

She blinks, but he just smiles a little and eventually she smiles back, even if she doesn’t understand.

“Thanks, Cap!” She calls out with a wave before she turns back around and runs.

“Wait!” he calls out before she can get too far, and she turns back, expression open and curious.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Steve starts, chewing on his lower lip for a moment and wings shifting a little hesitantly behind him, “But why don’t you dye them?”

She blinks at him, eyebrows pulling together and says nothing, so Steve continues, “It’s just...I see a lot of that now, people changing the colors of their hair, their wings. Makes it hard to tell what’s real and what’s not,” his own eyebrows pull together a little, “So I was just wondering...in this time where you can be anything…” He shakes his head slightly, smiling a little self deprecatingly to himself. “I think I just answered my own question,” he finishes instead.

The girl smiles bright. “Because that’s not me,” she answers anyway, and Steve nods with a smile.

She grins back before waving again and running off, and Steve sees Bucky in her again before she turns a corner and is gone.

Steve’s smile fades into something small and bitter and he turns back around, jogging through the rest of the park.

“Because that’s not me,” he mumbles to himself.

He dreams of Bucky and back alleys that night.

 

 

_Afterwards you can't go back_

_You cannot go back down_

_When once you fly_

_You cannot fall anymore_

_The angels will not come here_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation done by the awesome Gina. <3


	2. Misfire

_-...one of them pulls his **wing** \- _

_“ **HEY**!”_

_The punching and kicking stop and the hand holding onto his wing lets go. Steve cracks his eyes open and through his blurred vision - past his fists held up in front of his face - he sees a boy, can barely make out his angry face and the arms crossed over his chest. But Steve’s eyes are drawn up to the two tall, arched up pillars of **white** -_

_“ **Pick on someone** -”_

_The pitch drops._

_“- **your own size**.”_

 

Steve shoots straight up in bed, breath coming hard and a thin sheen of sweat layering his overheated skin, wings trembling slightly behind him. He unclenches his hands from the sheets and brings one up to scrub at his face before sliding it down and letting it drop back to the bed.

Steve drops back, forcing his breathing to slow while staring up at the ceiling, counting the specs of plaster in the paint until he falls back to sleep.

\--

“Bad dreams?” Natasha asks as they head down the hall to the hangar, Steve on her left and Clint on her right.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just adjusts his left, fingerless glove.

“Aliens?” Natasha asks next, and Clint’s eyes dart over to the two of them.

“ _Aliens_ ,” Clint says emphatically.

Steve cracks a small smile and finally answers, “Sometimes.”

“So _not_ aliens,” Natasha deduces, smirking slightly when Steve glances over at her.

Steve doesn’t say anything more and they board the quinjet together in silence, each taking a seat in the row along the back wall while the few other agents with them start the jet and close the hatch.

They’re ten minutes into the flight when Clint says, “The past or ice.”

Steve doesn’t tense, hasn’t in a while. It’s easier to talk about things now, even if he doesn’t always want to, and it’s easier to talk about them with people he’s fought in a war with. “Past,” he answers.

Clint nods like he gets it, and Steve’s sure he does. They’re all silent for the rest of the trip. That’s partially why he likes working with Clint and Natasha; neither feel the need to fill the silence like so many people today do.

He’s been going on these covert missions for the past month, sometimes just with Clint, sometimes just with Natasha, never by himself. They’re not what he’s used to doing, sneaking around in the dark, but he needs to do _something_ , and this is something. If he’s using it to avoid social interaction and interaction with the world in general, he’s not going to tell his therapist or Fury, though he’s sure they already know.

“Alright,” Steve says, standing up once they’re fifteen minutes outside of Moscow. Natasha joins him as he heads over to a screen mounted up on the wall, Clint following with an arrow shortly after. “Our target is the Kronas Corporation, lead by CEO and founder Alexsander Lukin,” Steve continues, only reading off the vital information on the screen that they already went over before shipping out. “Formal General of the KGB until its collapse in 1991. Our mission is to find out if there is any information within Kronas Corp. or Roxxon Oil’s servers related to any dealings with Hydra.”

Clint snorts. “Roxxon’s dirty, but they manage to stay out of trouble with their money,” he says, twirling his arrow between his fingers before pointing it at the information on the screen, “If they’re dealing with Hydra, the information is either going to be on Kronas’s servers because it’s secure, or Roxxon’s to keep the ties between it and Kronas more cleanly breakable.”

Steve feels the jet shift just slightly, pace slowing. They’re close. “Which is why we’re going in while they’re holding their annual Fall Gala,” Steve replies, half turning to look out the jet’s front windows. He turns back to look at Natasha, whose eyes shift to his before she raises her eyebrows.

“Ready?” he asks.

The corners of Natasha’s lips quirk up a little dangerously. She turns and grabs the bag she’d had dropped off earlier from the other row of wall seats and shoulders it as the jet begins to slow more obviously and descend, tips of her red wings lightly brushing Clint’s sandy blonde ones as she does. “I’m always ready, Rogers,” she replies.

Clint smirks, brushing the tips of her wings back, and Steve cracks a smile.

\--

It’s easy sneaking in through a side entrance and creeping along the black of the dim hallway’s walls. The lights are all off for the night and all of the guests are in the main front room with the large windows. He keeps his steps light and quick as he makes his way to the server rooms. Left, left, right, _left right left_ \- He shakes his head slightly, stopping at the last corner and pressing his back to the wall, tapping the comm link in his ear as he peers around the corner.

“I’ve got visuals on the door,” Steve whispers, “Two guards.”

“ _You’re done sneaking around already?_ ” Clint asks, letting out a laugh, “ _Look at that ‘Tasha. Our little Cap. All grown up. Bein’ a spy’n shit. I’m so **proud**_.”

“ _Indeed_ ,” Natasha replies quietly before they both hear her let out a tinkling laugh that sounds nothing like her at all.

Steve rolls his eyes, trying to ignore the clench in his gut. “Let’s save the _Mulan_ quotes for when we’re done,” he whispers back, ignoring Clint’s laugh, “I’m going in.” He darts around the corner, dashing down the hall at the two guards.

The two door guards pull their guns but Steve’s already spinning down, wings lashing out and sides hitting them both across the face. They land in two piles on the floor and Steve ends in a crouch with a hand braced on the shiny black surface. Slowly, he stands up, listening for any footsteps or alerted sounds. There’s nothing.

Steve gets the door open with a passkey made for the operation, pulling the card out of the belt around his dark blue uniform and sliding it through the slot. He drags the two unconscious guards inside once the door is unlocked and he gets it open, closing it behind him once he’s done before tying the men and their wings up. “I’m in,” he says into his comm.

“ _You need me to walk you through it?_ ” Clint teases on the comm.

“ _I’m fine_ ,” Steve replies back, heading over to one of the many computer’s docks and slipping in the pre-programmed USB for the mission. “Besides, you’d probably get me more lost than found,” Steve says back.

Natasha laughs something that sounds a little more real and Steve’s sure Clint’s pouting up on the neighboring rooftop where he’s keeping watch on all of the party guests, their security, and Natasha.

\--

The information’s easy enough to get with the software installed on the USB, a little too easy, Steve thinks. But he’ll have to worry about that later. He pulls it out as soon as it’s done copying everything over and sets the computer screen as it was, slipping out the door of the server room and past the two tied up guards. “Heading back out,” he reports quietly.

He’s just turned the corner to head back down the dim black hall when his ears pick up a sound and he quickly ducks low, the object coming at him flying near silent over his head and hitting the wall behind him.

He slowly stands back up, turning his head a little to glance over his shoulder. There’s a black knife embedded in the wall.

He quickly turns his head back around, eyes landing on a black shadow of a figure at the other end of the hall. A car passes by somewhere nearby outside the window and Steve gets a glimpse of a mask, metal arm, and large, black wings. As soon as the light’s slid passed and the hall is plunged into dark again the figure runs at him on silent feet. And it’s _fast_.

Steve dodges the first spinning sweep of shadow-like wings aimed for his chest and face and ducks out of the way of the quick second one aimed for his face and neck, bringing his own up - bright even in the darkness - as he spins low. The figure narrowly avoids them hitting its face and midsection before bringing its leg up, and Steve throws himself back a few feet with a forward push of his wings to dodge the kick and throw the figure off balance a little with the force of air. He darts back in on his feet, punch aimed at the figure’s face that the metal hand strongly grabs and deflects to the side.

Steve dodges a kick and blocks another rapidly spun sweep of the figure’s wings with both of his own, twisting to the side at the last minute to avoid another fastly thrown punch and aiming a kick of his own that doesn’t connect. This is going _nowhere_.

“ _Steve, what’s going on?_ ” Natasha asks in his ear, and Steve grunts with another dodge, barely avoiding the metal fist aimed at his collarbone.

“ _A little. Busy_ ,” he grits out back, aiming another kick at the figure’s side that finally hits.

“ _Someone’s actually **keeping up** with you?_ ” Clint asks, and he sounds surprised and a little worried. He should be. The last time anyone kept up with him was Thor. During the invasion.

“ _Can’t talk. Meet you at extraction point_ ,” Steve gets out, twisting out of the way and deflecting another close call with the metal fist, the other hitting him in the side and forcing out a grunt.

“ _Steve. Ten minutes_ ,” Natasha says after a few minutes of dodging, ducking, blocking, and twisting.

“ _Roger_ ,” Steve replies, quickly misdirecting another punch and kick in quick succession before reaching back behind him. He pulls his shield off of its place on his back and brings it up in a near blur of movement to block a left handed punch. Steve rears his wings up, flapping them once and pushing himself forward with the extra momentum to ram into the figure as hard as he can, shoving it into the wall. He gets a brief look at blue-gray eyes - cold like ice - and then he’s taking off down the rest of the hall, almost skidding around a corner and aiming for the next hall’s end.

He picks up the faint sound of boot steps following in chase behind him that sound too close for comfort and drops to his knees in a slide mid run while twisting, sweeping his shield up into the black winged figure’s abdomen and launching it into another wall with its own momentum.

Steve’s back on his feet and running before the figure even hits, turning three more corners with his enhanced speed and shoving out of the building’s metal side door, the metal slamming into the outside wall hard enough to crack the material with a loud _bang_.

He sticks to the shadows, running all the way to the extraction point.

\--

Steve makes it with a few minutes to spare, almost skidding to a stop just past the hatch and slamming his hand on the button to close it.

Natasha half turns towards the pilot where she’s standing behind the seat, bracing a hand on the top of it in an elegant, unzipped red dress while she orders, “ _Go_.”

“You alright?” Clint asks, coming over.

Steve holds up a hand, panting, signalling Clint to wait while he gets his breathing under control. He manages it by the time they’re in the air and unbuckles his helmet, pulling it off and letting out a long breath. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Steve finally answers.

Clint nods before taking a seat nearby.

Natasha slips the dress off while they talk - Steve’s eyes staying on Clint - rolling it up and cramming it back into the black duffel bag before sliding back into her black suit and heading their way. She sits down next to Steve, eyes intent on his. “Who was it.”

Steve shakes his head slightly as he takes a seat, looking across the short length of the quinjet while replying, “I don’t know. But he was fast. And strong. Had black wings and a metal arm.”

Natasha tenses at his side and takes in a small, quiet breath. Her and Clint’s heartbeats pick up and Steve’s eyes dart over to them. Both of their eyes are wide, wings stiff at their backs before Natasha schools her expression, faster than Clint. “Who is it?” Steve asks.

Clint and Natasha share a look before Natasha looks straight ahead, mouth flattening. Her eyes finally shift to Steve after a moment. “The Winter Soldier.”

“The Winter Soldier?” Steve asks, eyebrows pulling together.

“Most of the intelligence community doesn’t believe he exists,” Clint supplies.

“He’s been credited with over two dozen assassinations over the past _fifty years_ ,” Natasha continues, “He’s a ghost story.”

Steve looks between the two of them, eyes eventually settling on Natasha.

“And if he’s working for Lukin…” Natasha trails off.

“Then he’s working for Hydra,” Steve finishes, expression grim. “The strength he had? He might be like me,” Steve continues, “He was strong, even without the metal arm. He kept up with me while I was running full tilt,” Steve says, eyes searching hers but she’s giving nothing away.

Clint blows out a breath after a moment, leaning back against the wall of the jet. “Someone who can keep up with you, with a metal arm, and working for Hydra,” Clint says, closing his eyes, “Have to say, that’s not a comforting thought.”

Steve leans back in his own seat and lets his eyes unfocus as he stares across to the opposite wall of the jet, going over the fight in his mind.

Someone who might be like him. Another “man out of time” with enhanced abilities and black wings. Eyes like ice. He’d take comfort in the thought if they weren’t working for Hydra.

It always comes back to Hydra.

\--

“You got the files.”

Steve hands over the USB with Natasha at his right, just far enough away that their wings don’t brush. Fury leans forward to take it, rotating it once in his hand as he looks at it before looking up at Steve.

Steve doesn’t move or say a word. He wants to know if Hydra is on that drive or not. If The Winter Soldier is on that drive or not.

They’d already debriefed Fury on that, Steve about the fight and Natasha about what she knew. Or was willing to share with Steve in the room.

It wasn’t much. Mostly that it’s highly likely he has ties to the KGB and Hydra that may span back decades, and, Steve learned, the same is at least partially true for _her_. And that she’d run into him once before and got driven off a cliff and shot through the side of her midsection during the encounter. All Steve really managed to gain from it is that Natasha has an involved past and The Winter Soldier is more like a force than a man.

“Secure room,” Fury orders out after he stands. The room’s windows dim and Fury looks down as he plugs the USB into the dock set into his desk.

“ _Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff do not have the required level of security clearance_ ,” the computer informs them.

“Override: Fury. Nicholas. J.,” Fury instructs.

The computer overrides their clearance levels and Fury directs his gaze over to the other side of the room. Steve turns to follow his line of sight, looking up at the large glass screen on the wall opposite Fury’s desk. There’s a list comprised of several files - at least fifty - and Steve has the fleeting thought that he thinks Tony Stark would love to get his hands on those.

“Run search: Hydra,” Fury orders, and the computer quickly and systematically scans through all of the files within a matter of minutes, finally pulling up three matching results onto the screen. One is a main folder labeled: Imperial Industries International. The other two are subjointed folders within it labeled: Advanced Idea Mechanics and THEM.

Fury stares at the files for a moment before saving them into a separate folder. “Hopefully those will lead us somewhere better than a cover operation,” he says mostly to himself before glancing at Steve, “But we’ll get to those in a moment. That’s not entirely why you’re here.”

Steve looks back at him, arms crossing over his chest. Fury looks back up at the screen. “Run search: Winter Soldier.”

The computer runs the search while Steve looks back to the screen, wings motionless behind him.

\--

Steve parks his motorcycle in front of his apartment building, cutting the engine and climbing off in the stretching light of a street lamp. Now that he’s not driving, he can let his mind wander over the information.

They went over the Hydra files before he left Fury’s office, and a lot of the files they were connected with. Most contained some financial records and information on dealings between Kronas Corp., Roxxon, and Imperial Industries International. There were some brief mentions of weapons transactions between Roxxon and what Fury shortened down to as A.I.M., as well as some new avenues for them to follow that may lead them to more of Hydra. Fury told him he’d let Steve know if anything more came up or he was needed for something more vital, but otherwise there was little for Steve to currently get involved in.

Very little information came up on The Winter Soldier. Only that he was ‘owned’ by the Kronas Corporation ( _Lukin_ ), and that he had been in their possession for years. What exactly that meant or entailed was anyone’s guess.

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his short hair, heading over and pulling the door to the building open, slipping inside and making his way up the stairs. It feels a little too much like a crushed, twisted sort of hope in his chest and he tries to push it aside and not analyze the fact too much that a large part of him is almost desperately willing to connect to and with just about anything that’s similar to _him_. Even if that turns out to be a man that works for Steve’s enemy.

His neighbor’s just coming out of her apartment, still in scrubs and a basket of clothes in her arms when he finally reaches his floor. She notices him come up the stairs and offers a smile.

“Rough night?” she asks.

Steve cracks a small, wry smile in return. “That obvious?”

“I just got back from an eighteen hour shift,” she replies, honey colored wings shrugging with her shoulders, “I know that look better than most.”

Steve huffs a quiet laugh, heading for his door. He gets his key in the lock and his door pushed open before he pauses, turning back around to her. “Do you want to use my washer and dryer? They’re closer,” he offers.

She pauses in her turn for the stairs, wings stiffening slightly in surprise before they relax again. She offers him another smile after glancing at the basket in her arms and then back up at him. “No, thank you, but...I’ve got a load in downstairs already. And that shift I told you about? Infectious diseases ward,” she replies with a small grin.

“I’ll stay away then,” he jokes back with a grin of his own.

“Hopefully not too much,” she returns with another, softer smile, wings fluttering a little behind her before she turns and heads down the stairs.

Steve watches her go for a moment before turning back around and heading into his apartment, closing the door and locking it behind him.

He drops his keys and jacket in their usual spots on the table, eyes glancing over to where his shield sits propped up against the side of his couch where he had an agent drop it off for him earlier. It’s easier to get to his apartment and lie low when he’s not showing up to it dressed in stars and stripes and painted like the symbol and target that Captain America is.

He sheds his shirt and pants as he heads for the bathroom - yesterday’s clothes already in the basket he leaves in the corner of his room - and when he looks in the mirror the white paint on his wings is just starting to crack. He turns on the shower and steps in.

The paint’s easily rubbed off under the cold spray and afterwards he stands there when he’s done, face turned up to the water and eyes closed. Blue-grey eyes like ice flash through his mind and he tilts his head down as he reaches forward to turn the water off, rubbing a hand down his face to remove most of the excess and shaking his head quickly to do the same with his hair, drops hitting the shower curtain in small, rapid fire gun beats of sound. He shoves the curtain aside and reaches for a towel, stepping out and drying himself off.

Towel wrapped around his waist, he steps out the left open bathroom doorway and turns left down the hall, pausing in his steps on the way to his bedroom when the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Someone’s here.

He turns slowly, walking back towards the living room on silent feet, eyes scanning the room before he carefully steps out into it, ears listening for anything they might pick up.

He’s almost to the table when he sees it, the black on black with a very dim hint of gray and a small object aimed right in his direction from the corner of the living room. Steve freezes, wings and entire body going stiff. The figure in the shadows is just that much darker than the shadows themselves that Steve’s enhanced vision can make it out even in the night dark of his apartment.

The figure doesn’t step out or shoot and Steve stays where he is, calculating the quickest way to his shield and the closest thing he can use as a weapon in his current position, all while trying to keep an eye on the intruder with the gun in his hand.

“ _Черные_ ,” Steve hears, so quiet and vaguely curious in a low voice slightly distorted by the mask that Steve’s sure it’s not meant for him. He doesn’t know what it means, but he has a pretty good guess.

Steve shifts his wings slightly - just spreads the feathers out a little - and the figure’s own copy the motion, settling back down in time with Steve’s.

The Winter Soldier shifts, and even in the shadows Steve can see him moving like fluid grace in the dark as he walks the length of the bookshelves and tv center of Steve’s living room, torso gradually twisting slightly towards Steve so he can keep the gun on him. Steve slowly turns with him, keeping his own eyes on him the whole time.

The Winter Soldier stops at the dividing wall of the living room on Steve’s left, stepping out from the extra shadows it provides. The curtains are no longer constantly closed and they aren’t closed now, but the blinds are, and what little light from the street that manages to get into the apartment isn’t much, but it’s still enough to make it easier for Steve to see the man’s face. His eyes.

Steve suppresses a cold shudder but his wings give a small shake before they stretch out slightly and The Winter Soldier’s stretch out as well, almost subconsciously mimicking the movement before they stiffen and he forces them back, like he’s remembering himself.

“You will not die tonight,” The Winter Soldier says lowly, voice still slightly muffled and a little distorted by the mask. He lowers the gun before turning and walking towards the window.

Steve blinks, surprised and unsure of what to say until, “You think it’s safe to turn your back on me?”

The Winter Soldier stops, turning enough to look at Steve over his shoulder and between slightly stiff wings. The mask is blocking the lower half of his face, but Steve still gets the impression that he’s faintly amused.

The window’s opened and The Winter Soldier climbs up into a crouch on the ledge, spreading his dark wings and taking off into the night without another word, and Steve doesn’t try to follow.

After a few minutes of staring at it he heads over, closing the window and blinds and drawing the curtains shut. It’s only when he’s heading over to pick up his shield that he realizes the fear that always climbs up his throat at being seen without the paint on his wings never came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Черные - "Black"
> 
> Translation by the awesome caughtinanocean on tumblr fjdkfjsld


	3. Under the Midnight Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is the last chapter I can upload until Gina gets back from comiccon, so soak it up.

“The Winter Soldier was in my apartment last night.”

Natasha freezes with her spoon halfway to her mouth, eyes widening slightly and wings flaring a little before she schools her expression and forces her wings to relax, setting her spoon back down into her tray and shoving it a little to the side.

Steve glances up from his own, sighing a little when she just stares at him, and sets his fork down.

“You’re still alive,” she says, a question in her eyes.

“He said I wouldn’t die that night,” Steve answers.

Her eyes narrow at him in calculated thought before she sits up a little straighter. “What did you do,” she demands.

“Nothing,” Steve replies, voice and expression calm.

Her eyes narrow again but Steve remains impassive.

She seems to realize she’s not going to get any more out of him and sets her hands on top of the table. “He’ll be coming after you now,” she says with conviction.

“Most likely, yes,” Steve agrees.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “You’re taking this well,” she states.

Steve shrugs slightly, wings shifting a little restlessly with the movement. “He’ll come after me. I’ll fight him,” he says, “I don’t want to _die_ , Natasha. I _will_ be fighting for my life,” Steve insists honestly. And he doesn’t _want_ to die, it’s just. This is his fight, and he doesn’t want to drag anyone else into it and unnecessarily risk their lives with him.

Natasha studies him for a moment before saying, “That may not be enough. He’s a skilled assassin, Steve. You might be able to hold your own, but after how your first fight with him went, I’m not so sure you can _win_.”

Steve’s eyes drop to the table in thought, setting his own hands on top of it, one a fist and the other wrapped around the fists’ fingers. “Maybe,” he concedes, finally looking back up at her, “So show me how.”

She sits up a little straighter at that, caught, wings stiffening for a moment before they relax again. A smirk quirks up her lips. “Not bad, Rogers,” she says with a playful glint in her eyes.

Steve smiles a little as he picks back up his fork. Natasha slides her tray back in front of her and does the same, bringing her spoon of chocolate pudding back up to her mouth.

“Will you?” Steve asks after she’s swallowed. She hasn’t said she would. He takes a bite of his meatloaf, eyebrows rising a little at the flavor as he glances down at it. It’s not bad for cafeteria food. Not that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s cafeteria food is _bad_ , but usually cafeteria’s somehow always manage to screw up meatloaf.

Natasha keeps her eyes on her tray for another moment before looking back up at him, gaze calculating, and Steve looks back. Finally, she nods, bringing another spoonful of pudding up to her mouth.

Steve nods in return before taking another bite of his meatloaf.

\--

Red stretches under the high ceiling’s training room lights out the back of her black tank top, back to him, and for a moment her wings are made of fire.

Steve ignores the stares aimed their way from the other agents in the large training room when he stretches his own wings out, large, expansive, and wide-

 

_The pod opens and his first breath is easy, without hitch._

_He’s helped out and the room is sharp, Peggy crystal clear and red lips smooth, unblurred lies._

_He experimentally stretches his new, stronger wings out across the lab and they’ve become large, looming things instead of the bony appendages they had just been-_

 

He blinks and he’s back in the training room, Natasha facing him as she gets into a stance.

Steve shifts, getting into his own position and they lock eyes. Then she’s running at him, crossing the space between them swift and fast as a knife.

She spins and sweeps and twists, slashes and jabs made with stiff hands and equally stiff fingers aimed towards his vital points, and Steve barely keeps up.

The hard thing about fighting her is that she uses _everything_. Sometimes she uses her kicks more, sometimes she tries to wrap her body around his to use her momentum to bring him down, but everything she does is as equally skilled and as equally well used as the next, and she quickly and fluidly transitions from one to another as soon as a move falls through or she’s finished it.

If the sides of her wings are blocked by his she uses her hands and legs, if her hands or legs are blocked she finds a way to use her wings. There’s always an alternate attack, and if there isn’t she _makes_ one. Nothing goes unused and very little maneuvers or attacks are favored over others. She’s skilled in her unpredictability and she knows how to read her opponent and use _everything_ she’s made of brutally efficiently. It reminds Steve of his fight with The Winter Soldier, even though their fighting styles are different.

The Winter Soldier came at Steve like a barely contained tornado: strong, fast, _hard_. Always rotating, always coming down on him like an avalanche. Natasha comes at him like constantly shifting, spinning blades or a cobra: quick, small yet efficient movements, and always changing. But they’re both similar in their efficiency, in their focus. In the way Steve becomes their sole mission to eliminate or take down.

Both The Winter Soldier and Natasha have past ties to the KGB. For the first time, Steve wonders if they ever knew each other.

Steve’s been changing his training regimen ever since the invasion. It’s only been a few months, but he’s a quick learner, so he’s not as easy for Natasha to take down now as he might once have been, but finally she lands a kick to the side of his head and Steve stumbles. It’s enough for her to aim another kick at the inside of his leg and jump up to slam her elbow down across his face, driving him down to the floor and onto his back with the extra momentum.

Steve lifts his head up from the mat as he pants softly, eyes going up to where Natasha stands above him, panting harder than he is and skin shining with sweat under the training room lights. Her wings look ablaze again. It’s been a months long question, but, he decides, her red is a _lure_.

She stares down at him for a moment before stepping over him and heading to the nearby bench to grab a towel and wipe it across her face, setting it along her shoulders after to grab her water bottle and take a long drink. Steve pushes himself back up onto his feet on the mat and she turns back around to look at him.

“Understand?” she asks, trying to get her breathing under better control.

Steve takes a deep breath, letting it out in a _whoosh_ as he heads over to her, giving a nod. “Yeah, I’ve got it,” he replies, “Use everything.” She nods before taking another drink.

“Aerial?” he asks after a moment.

Natasha looks at him out of the corner of her eye before capping her water bottle and setting it down, pulling the towel off from around her shoulders and dropping it onto the bench. “Aerial,” she confirms.

Steve beats his wings once, pushing himself back the ten or so feet he needs to land back in the center of the mat.

Natasha flaps her own, landing a few feet away from him as he gets into position.

She settles back into her stance before motioning for him to charge forward. He does and she beats her wings once to launch herself up into the air. Steve takes off after her, aiming a punch at her head that she blocks.

\--

Fury’s waiting for him after Steve’s showered and changed in the gym’s locker room, mouth set in a firm line and arms crossed over his chest, expression grim. But Fury’s expression is usually grim, so Steve’s not sure if it’s specifically like that for the reason he thinks it is, or if it’s just another typical day. Since Fury’s cornering him just out of the changing room, Steve’s opting for the former.

“No, Nick,” Steve says before Fury can talk, walking past him and down the wide hall.

“I’m assigning an extra security detail,” Fury says anyway, following after him to walk at his left.

“I said no,” Steve repeats, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

Fury looks back. “I’m not having you walking around with a target on your back without more protection.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, shrugging his wings a little to slightly jostle the shield on his back in indication. Fury just gives him a _look_.

“You know what I mean,” Fury says, “And this isn’t just some common bad guy or even aliens. The Winter Soldier is a trained assassin - the best in the world - and don’t think I’ve forgotten that you didn’t tell me the moment he showed up in your apartment.”

Steve bristles slightly, feathers doing the same before he takes a breath and forces them down. He doesn’t like being watched, but who does.

“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Steve starts, “I don’t want a protection detail. I don’t want people getting used as my guard and shield or dying for me. They matter too, not just Captain America. They’re the reason I fight in the first place. I’ll be staying in the facility until he’s dealt with, but no _agents_ following me around,” Steve says, “And if he _is_ the _world’s greatest assassin_ , then why didn’t you tell me anything more about him when I debriefed our fight to you?”

Steve stops and Fury does too, arms still crossed over his chest as he stares at Steve.

Steve doesn’t budge, just stares back, shoulders squared and hands loose at his sides.

Fury sighs, letting his arms drop as he shakes his head slightly. “Because we don’t know much more than that _about_ him,” he replies, and Steve watches him for a moment, trying to puzzle out the truth of that statement.

“You’ll be monitored,” Fury says, continuing and cutting Steve off when Steve opens his mouth to protest, “Yes, as you have been. No extra protection detail. But your _current_ protection detail will be keeping an eye on you from an unknown distance at all times. And you will take that shield with you wherever you go,” he finishes, pointing a finger at Steve like Steve doesn’t practically take it with him everywhere _already_.

“Yes, _father_ ,” Steve replies a little sarcastically, turning to head for the parking garage.

He hears Fury huff a breath before leaving in the other direction, the leather ends of his trenchcoat flipping up as he goes, and even _those_ sound like they’re huffing at him.

Steve only feels some semblance of relaxed once he’s on his bike and out from under the shadow of S.H.I.E.L.D., but he keeps his trip short. Just long enough to give himself space and time to think, but short enough that Fury won’t completely feel the need to send a team out after him just to keep him monitored.

\--

Agent Coulson is waiting a few feet away from what’s become Steve’s usual parking space when he gets back, hands at his sides and a calm, polite smile on his face. Steve parks before shutting the motorcycle down and climbing off, walking the short distance to him. He quirks his lips up a little. “My _tour guide_ , Agent Coulson?” Steve asks a little jokingly.

“Someone has to, and it’s my honor,” Coulson replies with his own slightly joking tone, turning and heading for the doors of the building, “If you’ll please follow me, Captain Rogers.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve replies with a slightly wry smile, following after him.

They make it to the living quarters branch building of the Triskelion before Steve asks, “Will I be staying in the same room I was in before?”

“No,” Coulson replies, looking at Steve as he holds the door to the building open for Steve to walk through before following and walking ahead to continue leading the way, “The rooms are cycled through as we need them. But I can see about making it available if you want that one in particular.”

“No, it’s fine,” Steve returns, following Coulson’s turn down a right hall and then a left, “I was just wondering.”

Coulson finally stops at a door labeled ‘ _R-38_ ’ and opens it for Steve to step inside.

It looks like the room he’d been in before, like he’s assuming all of the other rooms look. There’s a bed in the upper left corner and a desk with a small lamp, notepad, and pen opposite it. The walls are a pale beige and the sheets on the bed are white. It still reminds Steve of a prison cell.

Coulson, maybe sensing his morose mood, says, “We’ll get him soon, Captain Rogers. You won’t have to stay here long.”

Steve turns to him. “Steve,” he corrects.

Coulson’s white wings flutter behind him a little - pleased - before Coulson forces them to still and covers an embarrassed cough with a fist, nodding at Steve. “Steve,” Coulson says, polite - if a little excited - smile back on his face. “We will get him. He may be the best trained assassin in the world, but that’s still no guarantee that he’s uncatchable,” Coulson says, “We have a couple of those working here already,” he finishes with that same smile.

Steve manages a small one in return before nodding and Coulson takes his leave, shutting the door to the room behind him.

Steve’s wings fully relax once he’s alone and he takes another look around the room, taking his shield off of his back to set it down on top of the desk before stepping back until his knees reach the side of the bed, sitting down on it.

He doesn’t really think that S.H.I.E.L.D. will catch The Winter Soldier, and he’s not entirely sure if he wants them to. He’s a danger to Steve and he needs to be stopped, Steve knows and understands that, but Steve at least wants the chance to talk to him first, maybe find out who he is and if he’s really like Steve at all.

Steve shifts and lies back on the bed, closing his eyes to the monotonous ceiling and mentally goes over his training earlier with Natasha.

\--

Steve dodges another fire blast before launching his shield at the man holding the flamethrower, fire lighting up the street in the night in a bright blast of orange, yellow, and red.

_Flamethrowers. Really?_

The shield knocks the man unconscious and the fire cuts out. Steve catches it just in time to spin around and block another blast from his second assailant.

There’s five thieves in total trying to rob one of the banks downtown, and they said something about being, “ _The Flame-on Five_ ,” in some strange, backwards tribute to The Human Torch. The police have already cleared the civilians back to a safe distance (although most of them are still recording everything on their phones) and Clint has already taken out one, stuck in hand to hand combat with two others while Steve works on his second. They didn’t sound like they’d be much of a problem when Fury had briefed them, but they’re all more skilled in hand to hand combat and strategy than any of them were expecting, and the flamethrowers are difficult to get around. But Steve already knew _that_ from experience, even if they’re not boxing him in this time in a compound in the forest or inside a Hydra facility. He’d rather not repeat _that_.

Steve takes down his second target and turns around just in time to see Hawkeye take down his own. Clint lets out a breath before looking back up at Steve. “Well, that was harder than it said on the box,” Clint jokes.

Steve’s about to make a joke back when Clint’s eyes widen and narrow at some point just over Steve’s shoulder, hand darting over his own for an arrow while Steve starts to turn, but he doesn’t think he’s going to make it in time-

Something whizzes past his ear just as he gets fully turned around and it’s in time for him to see a sixth man dressed up in the same black and orange outfit as the others go down, bullet between wide eyes and a knife raised in his left hand.

Steve spins back around, tracking the trajectory of the bullet while pulling up his shield, another bullet _pinging_ off of it’s surface just as he gets it up to cover his chest and head.

Clint’s already taken cover behind a nearby parked car and fires his unused arrow in the direction of the shooter over the car’s roof, projectile flying towards the roof of one of the buildings across the street.

A shot fires back, going through the back seat windows and nearly missing a ducking Clint, and a moment later Steve’s eyes get a brief glimpse of a silhouette running across the rooftop across the street. He spreads his wings, beating them once with a _whoosh_ to launch himself into the air and fly up after it.

The figure’s almost a near black thing, running _fast_ across the roofs in the night save for the metal arm and flash of skin when it turns its face to catch a glimpse over its shoulder. Steve folds his wings to dive down and spreads them again to swoop in low, flying fast a few feet above the rooftop and quickly closing the distance between him and the shooter. He’s just about to ram his shield into the figure’s back when large black wings spread and beat once. The Winter Soldier pushes himself up into the air in a short spiral while pulling a gun out at the same time and shooting at him.

Steve blocks the bullets with his shield and strongly beats his wings once to push himself up after him, getting in close enough to knock the gun out of his hand but losing his shield to a metal hands’ grab in the process, listening to it get thrown down into the alley below.

Steve deflects a punch and throws one of his own, moving immediately after it hits The Winter Soldier in the chest to spin up over him with another push of his wings. He bashes The Winter Soldier in the head with one on the way and narrowly avoids the metal hand making a grab for it when he does.

The Winter Soldier spins around just as quick and grabs Steve’s ankle with his left hand when he misses the wing, yanking Steve down roughly and landing a kick into Steve’s abdomen that sends him flying down and colliding into the side of the alley, dropping down to the ground and catching himself on a hand and his feet in a crouch. Steve shakes his head quickly and looks back up, but The Winter Soldier is gone.

“Cap!” Clint calls out, wings beating the air as he comes over to hover in the entrance of the alley Steve’s in before dropping down to the ground and running over to him, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, rubbing the back of his helmet with a hand before walking over to pick up his shield and look up at where The Winter Soldier just was.

“So that was him, huh?” Clint says, eyes following Steve’s.

“Yeah,” Steve repeats, letting out a quiet sigh while sliding his shield onto his right forearm.

“I missed,” Clint says, voice a little wry and bitter. Steve looks over to see his expression matches his tone.

“Yeah,” Steve says again, lips curling up at the edges.

Clint’s eyes dart back to him and he scoffs, turning and leading the way back out of the alley.

Steve grins as he follows, eyes finally coming to land on the five tied up, unconscious men with a long black rifle laying next to them when Clint and Steve come to a stop a few feet away. The sixth, dead man is still lying where he hit the ground.

“So they had a hidden man,” Clint says, resting his hands on his hips, “Smart.”

“Apparently not smart enough,” Steve replies, eyes glancing over the rifle before he half turns to look up at the rooftop across the street where the shots were taken.

“The gun was still up there,” Clint says, gesturing to it, and Steve turns back around to look at it a little longer before looking up at Clint, “He wasn’t carrying it with him when he ran.”

“Which means it’s probably untraceable,” Steve replies.

Clint shrugs, sandy blonde wings and all, expression going a little thoughtful before he looks back up at the rooftop and then at Steve. “His line of sight was clear,” Clint says, expression going puzzled, “But he killed that guy instead of taking the shot at you.” Clint nods his head slightly towards the dead man and Steve grimaces a little without looking.

“I know,” Steve replies after staring back at Clint for a moment in thought, turning a little to look back up at the rooftop again. “And no. I don’t know why,” he says before Clint can ask.

Clint looks up at the rooftop again for a moment with him before he finally lets out a sigh, turning back around to the tied up men. “Fury’s not gonna like this,” Clint says a little lightly.

Steve huffs a breath. “Fury never likes anything.”

Clint snorts, “Isn’t that true.”

\--

“I don’t like this,” Fury says, after they’ve debriefed him, standing at the head of the table with his hands braced on the top of it.

Clint sends Steve a look out of the corner of his eye and Steve’s lips twitch. Clint has to cough to cover up his smile, expression schooling into something professional when Fury gives them both a _look_.

He likes to do that.

Fury stares them both down before Clint finally offers, “There could be a few reasons why he didn’t shoot.”

Fury’s eye focuses on Clint and Clint shrugs his shoulders and wings in return, glancing over at Steve before going on. “The wind might not have been right. The _situation_ might not have been right. The scope might have had a defect,” Clint lists, even though two out of three of those were already checked and rechecked and proven perfectly fine, “Hell, the guy’s got a metal arm. _Maybe_ it malfunctioned.”

Fury’s expression goes contemplative before he looks over at Steve who looks back, wings lifting in a small shrug at the look Fury gives him. “I’m not a sniper, I wouldn’t know,” Steve replies to the questions he can see in Fury’s eye.

“But you’ve worked with one before,” Fury replies knowingly, and Steve stiffens in his chair, but keeps his eyes on Fury. Stares _him_ down.

“Yes, I have,” Steve replies, expression schooling and voice lacking inflection, “But I don’t know much more about it than the next person.” Bucky had never wanted him to know, and Steve hadn’t pushed to ask. Bucky had said, “ _You just do what you do and I’ll watch your back_ ,” and that had been the end of it. Steve got the feeling Bucky didn’t want him getting his hands dirty like that, like Bucky had. Maybe he wanted to spare Steve that even though Steve had plenty of blood on his own hands already. Still, that’s what Bucky had wanted, and during that time he’d wanted little else but to go home, so Steve let him have what he could.

Steve still hasn’t looked into sniping. His fighting styles have been broadened and changed and he can shoot a gun just fine, but that’s something he still hasn’t touched in honor of Bucky. But he doesn’t say any of this, just stares back at Fury as Fury stares at him.

Fury continues to for a few moments before standing up straight off of the desk, eye going over the files laid out in its surface by the table’s built in computer. He swipes a hand across the surface to clear them and looks back up, nodding once. “Dismissed.”

Clint and Steve both stand up and head out, but Steve can feel Fury’s gaze prickling up the back of his neck and wings the whole way until the door to the office closes behind him.

\--

The showers are deserted when he goes into the closest shower room to his current living quarters late at night, getting into one of the private stalls with clothes, a towel, and the can of dye hidden between the two under his arm.

Steve pulls the curtain closed around the stall and sets his things down in a small, built in tray, stripping out of his clothes before turning the water on. He gets under the cold spray and starts scrubbing the newly cracked dye off, letting his mind wander to the rooftop chase and the sound of the bullet whizzing passed his ear. His fight with The Winter Soldier. He shuts the water off once he’s rinsed off all of the dye and given himself a perfunctory wash.

He’s just started spraying on the dye within the safety of the shower when he hears the door to the room open and he freezes, finger immediately lifting from the top of the spray can. Steve lifts his wings up high enough so that the bottom feathers aren’t viewable through the gap at the bottom of the shower curtain, forcing his breathing to remain slow and shallow as he listens intently to the footsteps.

He hears the water of one of the faucets turn on and then off a moment later, quickly followed by the sound of teeth being brushed. Steve’s heart is lodged in his throat, afraid of _being caught_ -

 

_“Sir, I don’t think the public will take too **kindly** to **black**.” The Senator’s aid throws a look his way that’s only apologetic on the surface before his attention is back on the Senator himself. Steve doesn’t bother to try and return it, he doesn’t think there’s any point._

_“Then cover them up! I’m sure the good Captain will understand.” The Senator smiles like he’s already heard his expected answer, like they aren’t completely erasing the color Steve was born with and that Bucky tried so hard to make him feel good about. To make others think twice about what they said to Steve by using his blood and **fists**._

_Steve forces a smile and swallows down the bile rising in his throat, the anger. The clench in his stomach. “Of course,” he says._

_“Very good!” The Senator pats him on the shoulder and walks off, muddied brown feathers following in his wake. Bucky’d have both their hides._

_But Bucky’s not here and Steve needs to help in the war, needs to find the source of the voice in his head telling him to, “ **deck the Senator one, Stevie, he deserves it**-”_

 

The sound of the washroom door banging shut pulls Steve out of the memory and he takes in a deep breath, wings sagging to the tile of the shower floor as he lets it out in a long exhale.

He glances up at his top right wing, eyes trailing down the white as it fades into black before he lifts the can and gets back to work, the _hiss_  of the dye spraying on filling the echoing silence.

\--

He heads down to the firing range after his wings have dried, hair still damp and sweatpants and t-shirt loose fitting comforts. There’s a couple of other agents in the room, but they don’t do more than give him a moment’s glance before they’re back to their target practicing, Steve passing them by like a shadow as he heads down to the gun locker to pull out an agent’s standard issue firearm, clip, and target practice sheet, forgoing the protective ear muffs.

Steve steps into one of the stalls towards the end of the range and pins up the sheet, pressing the button on the left stall wall and watching the sheet practically fly towards the other end of the room. Once it’s a good deal away, he loads the clip into the gun and gets into a stance, firing with his right hand.

Four bullets in, he catches a glimpse of yellow feathers in his periphery at the gun locker-

 

_His mother’s pale yellow wings - folded tightly in anxiety against her back - glow in the afternoon light streaming through their small kitchen window as she cleans up his face. Her blue eyes ( **brighter than his** ) flit to the boy standing in their kitchen’s entryway, who’s standing straight under her scrutiny. She’s worried, Steve can tell, because black is bad enough on its own, but adding in white just makes things for him **doubly** worse._

_But, she doesn’t say any of this, and instead offers the boy a kind, grateful smile._

_“What’s your name, young man?”_

_The boy blinks then grins in return, opening his mouth to reply-_

 

Steve quickly switches the gun to his left hand and fires the rest of the clip without aiming, breaths coming a little fast.

He slowly lowers the gun a few moments after the clip’s emptied and switches it back to his right hand, pressing the retrieve button on the left wall for the practice target.

When the target is finally all the way back to him, there’s two careful shots each in the chest and head, the last eight a mess of random shots in non-vital areas of the body and holes in the edges of the sheet.

Steve tears down the target and slides out the clip as he steps out of the stall.

He glances around, but the shooting range is empty.

\--

Steve’s staring out at the afternoon sunlight reflecting off of the Potomac when he hears footsteps approach to his right, quickly followed by a calm, familiar voice, “Want to spread your wings?”

Steve lets out a quiet sigh, shifting on his feet, wings shuffling a little restlessly behind him. “I can leave the building any time I want, but flying makes me an easy sniper target,” he replies, finally turning his head to look over at her.

Natasha hums in quiet agreement, eyes looking out the long, wide window at the Potomac and the trees beyond it. “There’s the training room,” she suggests.

Steve sighs again, looking back out the window. “It’s not the same,” he says.

Natasha hums again before falling silent, a calming presence next to him as they both stare out the large window. “Are you here for a reason?” he finally asks after a few minutes, turning his head to look over at her again.

She looks back, lips quirking up slightly on one side. “Fury wants to see you,” she answers.

Steve doesn’t roll his eyes, but he can tell _Natasha_ can tell that he really wants to. He follows when she turns and walks down the hall, leading the way to Fury’s office. She must be going with him on whatever his next assignment is. Fury never likes sending him out alone, like Steve’s some prized treasure that needs keeping.

It’s starting to wear on him.

\--

“Have you cleared the last room on the fifth floor?” Steve asks into his comm, bashing his shield to the right into the last Hydra agent’s head, not bothering to watch the unconscious man fall to the ground.

“ _Almost_ ,” Natasha replies back in his ear.

“Eighth floor is clear,” Steve reports after he’s let his eyes scan the room, heading for the window after, “I’ll meet you at the bottom.”

“ _Copy_ ,” Natasha replies.

Steve opens one of the building’s tall windows and steps onto the ledge, looking down at the street below for a moment before he leans forward a little, spreading his wings out wide along the sides of the building under the stars before letting himself fall, large wings catching the wind current half a floor down and slowing his descent.

He’s halfway down the sixth floor when his ears pick up a sound and something pierces his left shoulder and he grunts with the impact, eyes darting to it to see red soaking through his uniform from the bullet wound before quickly looking back up, scanning the area and almost immediately spotting a familiar figure standing a couple roofs away. Steve beats his wings once to stop his descent before beating them again as he changes direction, flying forward and quickly picking up speed as the figure fires at him again, bullet skimming past his cheek and temporarily deafening his right ear as he closes the distance between himself and the shooter.

The Winter Soldier throws his gun to the side and launches himself up into the air when Steve’s closing the last few feet between them, Steve dropping to the ground and launching himself up after him in quick succession, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he pulls his shield off of his back and swings it at The Winter Soldier.

The Winter Soldier spins to the left before folding his wings to his back and letting himself drop, heavy boot colliding with Steve’s injured shoulder and wings spreading again after to hold himself in the air. Steve grits his teeth against a shout and swings his shield again, pushing himself up with the motion with his wings to kick the man in the abdomen just as the shield hits him in the face, pushing himself back with the motion.

He catches a glimpse of something small and black falling and looks up, eyes widening when The Winter Soldier turns his head back around to look at him, mask gone.

Steve almost falls out of the sky when his whole body and wings freeze up, barely keeping himself in the air after a moment’s stutter, breath forced out of his lungs. The only thing that makes him keep moving his wings at all is that not doing so drops him closer to the _ground_ and _further away_ from the other man in the air.

“Bucky…?” Steve asks faintly, body still held stiff and both of their wings beating, Steve’s sporadically and Bucky’s steadily, black and white in the night to keep them in the air as they stare each other down.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” The Winter Soldier replies, wings shifting to launch himself at Steve and Steve fails to react, grunting at the impact when they collide. They both tumble down through the air, Steve’s back colliding with the rooftop and knocking the air out of his lungs, both rolling with the momentum until Bucky has him pinned and is leaning over him.

He pulls a knife out of a holster at his back and raises it and Steve finally moves, bringing his shield up to block the overhead swing. The Winter Soldier quickly tosses the knife into his right hand and yanks the shield out of Steve’s grip with his left, tossing it to the side before switching the knife back to his left hand and raising it again.

Steve flares his wings out and brings the left one up to bash The Winter Soldier in the right side of the head, reaching up to grip his shoulders and roll them so he’s on top and leaning over him. “ _Bucky_ , it’s _me_ ,” Steve says urgently, staring down at him.

The Winter Soldier’s eyes widen and narrow slightly, knife poised as he stares up at Steve for a moment. Then he darts in and plunges the knife into Steve’s right wing and Steve can’t hold back _that_ yell, eyes squeezed shut briefly against the pain before he snaps them open and pulls his arm back, punching The Winter Soldier hard enough to knock him out across the face.

Steve pants hard as he stares down at him, wings trembling, blood soaked down the left shoulder of his uniform and seeping through the feathers of his right wing.

“ _Steve? Steve!_ ” he hears in his ear, sitting back after a moment before sliding to the side to sit down on the roof, breath easing into shallow pants.

“I’m here,” he finally replies, eyes glued on The Winter Soldier.

“ _ **Where are you**_ ,” Natasha demands.

“A rooftop,” Steve answers.

He spots a flash of red - bright even in the night - in the corner of his eye a few minutes later but doesn’t move, eyes still trained on the figure lying next to him, blood dripping from his right wing and forming a small pool on the rooftop under it.

“ _Steve_ ,” Natasha says a little urgently, landing on the roof and coming over with her gun trained on The Winter Soldier.

“It’s Bucky,” Steve says quietly, disbelieving as he finally turns his head to look up at her.

She looks back, eyebrows pulling together slightly.

“It’s Bucky,” Steve repeats, breath catching in his throat.

Her eyes shift back to The Winter Soldier. To _Bucky_.


	4. Down Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GINA'S BACK FROM VACATION _brace yourselves_.

He comes to slowly, like coming out of ice, keeps his body still as he listens for any indicative sounds and absorbs the feel of the object that he’s lying on.

No sounds, only his breathing.

Cushion. Thin. Barely the length of his body.

He opens his eyes and sits up slowly, left arm immobilized at his side, and shifts until he’s sitting cross legged on what appears to be a cot against a wall, wings tucked in at his back and right arm resting in his lap. His eyes quickly take in the room and he ignores the pounding in his head, but there’s little else besides the cot: a toilet and sink, two chairs and a table in the center of the room, everything bolted into place. He can just see the seam of the room’s door to the far left in the wall across the room from him. There are no cameras that he can see, but he has no doubt that the room is being monitored.

He closes his eyes and goes over the last things he can recall.

\--

He hears the door slide open, nearly silent, approximately twenty minutes later and his eyes slide open in time with it, tracking the movements of the man that walks in. He carries himself like a commander, a leader, has dark grey wings and an eyepatch.

The man takes a seemingly casual seat at the table in the chair furthest from him, one hand resting in a loose grip around his other on its surface.

The man stares at him and he stares back, but doesn’t move.

“‘ _The Winter Soldier_ ’,” the man starts, and The Winter Soldier shifts slightly, wings twitching faintly as he sits up a little straighter - like a dog hearing its name called - but otherwise doesn’t react, “Working for Alexsander Lukin. What is your name, and what are you here for?” the man asks.

The first question is strange. The second should be obvious.

The Winter Soldier stares back at him for a few minutes, thinking, processing, going over his options-

 

“ _ **Bucky!**_ ”

 

His eyes narrow fractionally, wings twitching slightly, once.

 

_Wind at his back, an anguished, desperate face getting smaller and smaller as he falls further and further away-_

_Red on white. Blood on snow. He can’t feel anything-_

_“Sergeant Barnes.” A round face and a small, pleased smile._

 

His head jerks to the side as he sits up straight on the cot, wings snapping out stiff and wide at his sides against the wall. The man at the table sits up a little straighter, wings stiffening as he watches him, alert.

Slowly, gradually, The Winter Soldier folds his wings to his back, eyes on the floor as he processes the new information. ‘ _Bucky_.’ The man with the white black wings called him that, but The Winter Soldier has never seen him in the snow before.

He’s been on mission for three days. Malfunction?

He glances up to the man at the table, who’s watching him intently, ready to move at the slightest provocation. “Мужчина с белыми крыльями,” he starts, switching to English when the man with the eyepatch raises an eyebrow. He wants answers, and this is the only way. “The roof,” he starts, “The man there. Who was he.”

The man’s other eyebrow joins the first high up on his forehead and he leans back a little in the chair, lacing his fingers on top of the table as he stares at him. “You mean to tell me, you’ve been trying to kill him for _days_ and you _don’t know_ who he is,” the man says, voice flat and skeptical.

The Asset holds his stare.

The mission had been simple. He does not _need_ to know _who_ his targets are, not beyond their location and their face. And he will not answer questions, not this time, but he finds he will _ask_ them.

The man lets out a breath that almost sounds like the start of a quiet laugh, pursing his lips slightly after as he continues to look at The Winter Soldier.

The Asset stays where he is, motionless and waiting. It does not matter if he gets the answers, that’s not what he is here for, but something in him _wants_ to _know_ -

The man stands up and he feels the first flickers of unexplainable panic rise in his chest, something unfamiliar to him. He leans forward slightly, involuntarily, and his lips part fractionally before-

“Captain America,” the man says, turning for the door. It slides open when he gets to it and the man turns around to look at him, “But you might know him better as ‘ _Steve Rogers_ ’.”

His right hand curls slightly into the beginnings of a fist where it’s shifted to rest on his knee, something stopping in his chest even though he can still feel his heart pumping blood through his veins and breath moving in and out of his lungs at only a minimally increased pace. The man’s watching him intently and he leans back from where he’d leaned forward, forcing his body and wings to relax. He hadn’t even realized they’d gone stiff.

He forces his breathing to slow back down to its resting pace and looks to the side of the man, just over his shoulder at the hall beyond, his gaze remaining there even after the man has left and the door has slid shut behind him.

“ _Steve Rogers_ ,” he mouths voiceless on fractionally parted lips, eyes dropping to the floor before going to the gray cement wall across the room. His gaze finally shifts over to the black feathers in his periphery and he stares at them, something trying to nudge into his mind like the feathers in his periphery, but when he tries to force it into the light it starts to slip away, so he stops trying.

He leans back against the wall after a few moments, eyes shifting to the metal table and chairs before sliding up a little to the wall straight ahead. _Steve Rogers_ , he thinks, and the voice in his head sounds slightly _off_ somehow.

\--

They feed him. They give him a bucket to wash himself with, one small bar of soap while a team of men stand in a row against the wall next to the door with their guns trained on him the whole time in case he tries to either drown himself or use the bucket to attack them with.

He contemplates both, but in the end just uses it for its intended purpose, turning around with his right hand at the back of his head when he’s done and one of them comes forward - unarmed - to take it away.

He thinks of killing this agent or using him as leverage, maybe as a shield, but finds himself staring at the blank grey wall until they all file out and leave him again to his silence, every time.

\--

The black on his wings starts cracking and he stares at them for a long time when it does, something twisting in his gut that feels hot and roiling and that he thinks might be anger.

The color has never bothered him before.

He thought they were black.

He starts picking the paint off with idle fingers, spends his time gently scratching the flecks of black off and finding dirty white underneath, fingers oddly slow and patient though the slowly building fire in his chest steadily builds and demands his attention.

When they bring the bucket full of water and small bar of soap in the next day, he scrubs the paint off almost viciously, some of his feathers coming off with it and sending the rest into disarray, teeth gritted in his slowly built anger and motions jerky in a way that makes his guards nervous, all of their wings twitchy at their backs.

But he doesn’t focus on them, _can’t_ , not until _he gets all of the black **they put on him off**_-

\--

He starts to dream again. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he last has, or why he thinks of it as ‘ _again_ ’ in the first place, just that some part of him knows he’s done it before.

He feels the phantom sensations of frost and cold quickly sweeping up his skin in a wave inside a small, enclosed space. Sees his reflection and metal hand reaching for it in his mind’s eye before it’s covered over in white, and his eyes close on it to make everything black.

He thinks he used to dream in whatever place this is. That even if his mind doesn’t remember, his body does.

The solid black is a comfort and he thinks of wings that are the same.

\--

His dreams are scattered things.

One night he dreams of something consistent, unbroken into fragments, of snow and cold. Speeding wind sliding through his feathers, ruffling them and putting them in disorder, but it doesn’t feel like he’s flying.

At the end of it it feels like he’s falling, and he jerks awake with a muffled yell.

\--

Sometimes his dreams are fragments of things he’s not sure are memory or his mind’s fabrications. Sometimes they are full of blood and faces frozen in shock or horror. Targets, he thinks, missions, some old and some recent, though he’s not sure when ‘recent’ is, just that some of them aren’t as old as others.

\--

Sometimes his dreams have a warm glow, a heat to them that he can’t remember feeling. There are women, dancing and twirling in knee length skirts and dresses, smiling at where he thinks he might be standing. Where he thinks he might be moving with them.

Sometimes he sees the top of a blonde head, someone a head shorter than he is with narrow black wings walking away from him or pulled in close to his side, a white wing that he thinks might be his encasing frail, solid black appendages that he doesn’t think are frail at all. They’re stronger than they look, like the man they’re attached to, and _he would know_ -

He jerks awake, breaths coming fast and white wings made a soft gray from the black paint residue trembling at his sides. He can’t clean them properly, his motions get jerky when he tries to spend more time on them.

The wings make an aborted jerk of motion to encase him and block him from the view of the people he knows are watching him from somewhere, but he forces them to remain at his sides and to still. He is not a coward.

\--

He spends what he thinks might be the whole next day and night thinking over the word ‘coward,’ and why he thought it.

\--

He doesn’t come up with an answer, just that some small piece somewhere inside of him shakes in something like unease, because even if he doesn’t know _how_ he knows, he knows that he _is_ a coward.

But he has a feeling that someone at some point made him not want to be. Someone who he thinks might have blonde hair and pitch black wings-

\--

During one dream he hears laughter and gets a flash of blue eyes. He wakes with his chest clenched in what he knows is longing and stares up at the ceiling with unfamiliar tears built in his eyes, expression slightly pinched, all of these things foreign and familiar all at once.

He turns his face towards the wall and finally lets his wings cover him from view.

\--

His thoughts have slowly shifted from Russian to English. It feels significant, though he doesn’t know why.

\--

He still runs the name ‘ _Steve Rogers_ ,’ over and over in his head. At one point it changes to ‘ _Steven Rogers_ ,’ and for a reason he can’t explain, he stills where he’s sat cross legged on the cot, breath catching in his throat.

It sounds familiar in a way that very few things ever are to him ( _a gun in his hand, a knife, the cold_ ).

\--

Eventually ‘ _Steven Rogers_ ’ becomes ‘ _Steven Grant Rogers_ ’. The moment it does he feels both settled, and for the first time in a short time, terrified all at once.

He knows it’s been short, even without the memories to back it up.

He’s sure he’s been terrified more often than his mind remembers, because his body seems to remember _just fine_ ( _choked off yells, muscle memory of pain, a dull ache at his left shoulder_ ).

\--

He starts doing exercises again on what he thinks is his fifth day in the room. Push ups with his right arm, easy combat moves that he doesn’t mind the cameras recording or the people watching to see, one handed handstands and flips.

He stretches his wings out, the room only a little longer than his wingspan when they’re both stretched out as far as they can go, and tries grooming them once. His fingers seem to know what they’re doing with muscle memory, and he gets half of one done before he thinks he feels long, thin fingers ( _artists’ hands_ -) that grow larger, fuller, but no less gentle.

He also thinks he feels feminine hands overlayed a moment later, quick and efficient but lingering in a rare moment of indulgence, and he stops, stomach clenched.

He doesn’t try again.

\--

He dreams of red wings like fire that night, and remembers an old wish that that fire would burn him up and leave nothing behind. That it would be better than being stuck with what he _feels_ ( _or doesn’t_ )-

He wakes up with a feeling of loss of gold and red so all consuming it’s like a hole in his chest.

\--

The door slides open on what might loosely be the sixth day and his eyes wander to it, watching the man with the eyepatch walk in with a folder and take a seat at the table, gesturing for him to do the same but clearly not expecting him to.

He stares at the offered chair for a few moments while the man opens the folder, motions freezing when The Winter Soldier slowly stands from his usual cross legged position on the cot and steadily walks over, taking a cautious seat at the table with his eyes trained on the man.

The man looks surprised for all of a brief moment before he schools his expression and starts shuffling through the papers in the folder, not looking at The Winter Soldier’s now messy, light gray wings once or saying anything about them at all. He’s sure the man’s already seen them on the security surveillance. He’s not sure why he cares about that so much.

The Winter Soldier’s eyes drop down to the papers in front of the man and he can read them upside down clearly, right hand coming up to scrub lightly at the scruff on his jaw. He freezes before he moves his hand down to rest it on the table top. He is a weapon. Not a man.

The man turns one of the sheets of paper around and slides it towards him across the table, not noticing or not caring about The Asset’s moment of unease, and The Winter Soldier’s right hand twitches fractionally to slide forward and pull the paper closer, but he forces it to stay where it is. It’s gotten a little harder to not react to things since the man was last in the room.

“This is the official file we have on you,” The man starts. The page is mostly blank. “As you can see, it’s not much,” the man states, turning around and setting another two papers on top of the first. “These are the _unofficial_ files we have on you.” There’s more there, but still not much, most of it reading like speculation (even though some of it is correct). The Asset lets his eyes scan over all of the pages as the man continues, pulling out five more and laying them out on top of the previous three. “ _These_ are the official _and_ unofficial files we have on Alexsander Lukin, and his Kronas Corporation,” The man says, eye looking up at him.

He finishes scanning all of the pages and looks up as well, staring back.

“We want your help taking him down, and finding out anything, and _everything_ , he’s been doing with Hydra,” the man finishes.

The Winter Soldier stares back at him blankly. “Why would I help you,” he says monotonously, voice scratchy from disuse.

The man slides the open file folder to the side before lacing his fingers together on top of the table (smart, so The Asset can’t pull the folder to himself and pull the man off balance with it), palms facing each other and eye staring at him calmly. “If you do this, I’ll let you speak with Steve Rogers,” the man returns.

The Winter Soldier studies him closely. It would be foolish to betray Lukin or Hydra for something so small, something he has no guarantee of happening. And the thought of taking scraps like a _dog_ stirs that new-old anger inside of him that’s become a slow burning companion over the past six or so days, no matter that he remembers having behaved like a dog before.

He’s a weapon, not a man.

Still…

With the changes he has experienced over those six days, he has questions, and for once he wants answers, and Steve Rogers has appeared enough times in his mind that he might hold some of them.

This might not make him only a _weapon_ anymore, but he still does not think that he is a _man_ either.

He won’t give everything away all at once, his only insurance. He will give the man pieces, trade for things bit by bit until he’s satisfied whatever old, unnamable thing’s been stirred inside of him that _wants_.

The Winter Soldier finally reaches forward with his right hand after a few minutes and pulls one of Lukin’s official files a little closer to himself, opening his mouth to speak-

\--

The man leaves after The Asset’s given him something he can work with. It’s not much (like he’d decided), but enough. He walks back over to the cot, after, laying down on it and closing his eyes, processing.

Lukin and Hydra will be angry with him, will do whatever it is they do to make him forget things, he’s sure ( _and his teeth grit slightly like there should be something hard between them, vaguely remembered pain jolting down his body from his head_ ). His options are limited. He could end his existence, cease to be a liability to both of them and the failed weapon he’s become. He could do this after he gets what he wants, and part of him _wants_ to, _commands_ him to cease functions. But another part of him doesn’t, the part of him that’s been slowly forming over the past near week that just barely overrides that urge.

Sometimes he wants to get out of this cell and go back just so they’ll make him forget or end him, make him forget the part of him that _can feel_ like it does, that can _want_. So they’ll make him back into the weapon that he’s supposed to be, or nothing at all.

Othertimes, he wants to protect it with a vicious need, to keep it safe like a flicker of flame in a snowstorm.

He’s not sure which to listen to: the _command_ or the _need_.

His ears pick up the faint sound of the door sliding open twenty minutes later and hesitant footsteps crossing the line between the hall he knows is outside and this cage, door sliding shut just as quietly as soon as whoever it is is fully inside. He opens his eyes and sits up on the cot, turning his head to look at his visitor.

It’s Steve Rogers ( _Steven Grant Rogers_ ), and part of him is surprised. The man didn’t have to keep his word, but he did. And it distracts him from the command to run or die, pulled under the tide and washed over with the _need_.

He tamps down the surprise he feels and watches Steve Rogers' eyes ( _blue_ ) flicker to him, wide and infinitely open, but guarded and unreadable all at once, more than The Asset’s given orders of, “ _Eliminate that red, white, and blue **disaster**_ ,” I.D. photo, and brief location information had made of him. For the first time, he wonders what he did not know about _all_ of his targets.

Steve Rogers walks over to the table a little haltingly and takes a seat in the farthest chair that the man had been sitting in, eyes going between the tabletop and The Winter Soldier a few times before they finally settle on the wall to his right.

The Asset watches him for a few moments before slowly shifting on the cot and standing up, Steve Rogers’ eyes snapping back to him with the motion. He takes measured steps to the table and sits in the chair opposite him, both their hands in their laps as they stare at each other across the table's surface.

Neither of them says anything, and Steve Rogers’ eyes finally, slowly drift to The Winter Soldier’s wings and take them in. The Winter Soldier can’t stop them from shifting just slightly at his scrutiny, even though with what he _does_ remember, he can’t remember ever shifting them under _anyone’s_ scrutiny.

Steve Rogers’ eyes snap back to his face when he notices and he keeps them there, whether out of some sort of respect or disgust The Winter Soldier isn’t sure, but it doesn’t feel like disgust, and the simmering anger in his chest doesn’t boil to the surface, so he relaxes slightly, wings fractionally relaxing with the rest of his body.

Steve Rogers’ do the same, and it’s...He doesn’t have a word for it in any of the languages he knows. Only his masters are relaxed around him when they know he is there, and Steve Rogers does not feel like a master.

“I know you,” The Winter Soldier says, voice still a little scratchy and almost loud in the tense silence of the room.

“But you don’t remember,” Steve Rogers says. It’s not a question.

The Winter Soldier leans back slightly in his chair, bringing his right hand up to rest it on the table as he thinks, looking at him. His blue eyes ( _familiar_ ), his blonde hair ( _familiar_ ), his painted wings ( _familiar. A twitch of anger_ -)

“I’ve seen you in my head,” he says, watching the surprise flicker in Steve Rogers’ eyes. It makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest, but he doesn’t know why. “I don’t know what is true,” he adds, doesn’t say that he _wants_ to know. That would be too much information, give away too much of the small pieces he’s gained back. And he knows it is ‘back’, because each piece slots into him like a puzzle that once felt far more complete than he does now.

Steve Rogers stares at him for a few moments, thinking over The Winter Soldier’s words before finally speaking again. “I would offer to tell you if they’re true or not, but I don’t think you’d exactly believe me right now,” he says, smiling slightly in a way that shouldn’t really be a smile, but he somehow manages to make it one. Another thing he’s capable of that The Winter Soldier’s mission brief did not tell him.

The Winter Soldier shifts his wings slightly before sitting back up, still watching Steve Rogers. “What do you suggest?” he asks, narrowing his eyes fractionally.

“I’ll show you,” Steve Rogers says, watching him back, “When I can. You’re stuck in this room for now and I can’t bring anything in with me.”

“ _Cage_ ,” he finds himself saying.

Steve Rogers’ eyes go a little sad and his mouth flattens a little, and he nods his head slightly.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t say anything more, just looks to the top right corner of his _cage_ before leaning back in his chair again.

They don’t talk for another few minutes, Steve Rogers just watching him and The Winter Soldier watching Steve Rogers back. But something’s niggling at some dark corner of his mind and he opens his mouth, unsure for once of what will come out until it does.

“Why did you let them do it,” he says, but it sounds more like a _demand_ and his eyes widen slightly, Steve Rogers’ widening as well. He’s never demanded anything that wasn’t part of a training program-

A flash of red darts behind his eyes and he pushes it aside for later, that simmering anger rising in his chest. The words feel _right_ somehow.

“ _Why did you let them do it_ ,” he demands again a little sharper, leaning forward a bit over the table. It feels _old_ and _familiar_ , like an old glove he’s just put on again and he gets swept up in the emotions that come with it because-

“ _White is something to be ashamed of, and black is even **worse**_ ,” except that it’s **_not_** -

“ _Steve_ ,” he orders, messy wings slowly flaring at his back.

Steve flinches in his seat - wings and all - and sits up straighter, wide eyes on him.

“ _Bucky_ -” Steve says, and suddenly he’s launching himself out of his seat and over the table, body moving on its own and thoughts a streamline of-

He grips Steve’s jacket and shirt collar with his right hand and pushes him back out of the chair and onto the ground against the wall behind it, leaning over him, Steve’s wings caught between his back and the wall.

He raises his own, light gray feathers flaring wide behind him and towering over them both, shadowing them and blocking out the light.

That feels familiar too, in a different way. A different time.

“ ** _Why did you let them do it_** ,” he demands again, voice low and face close to Steve’s, shaking Steve slightly with the words, and Steve flinches again with a wince, staring up at him with wide eyes.

His eyes dart to Steve’s left arm and right wing where it’s still frozen between his back and the wall, Steve’s own, neat feathers flared in surprise.

Steve’s hand comes up to hold onto his wrist where it’s gripping his shirt and jacket in a tight fist, Steve’s grip firm but not making any move to remove his hand, just holding on. His eyes dart back to Steve’s.

“ _It was the only way_ ,” Steve chokes out, and his eyes widen because _that sounds familiar_. He slowly releases his grip on Steve’s shirt and jacket to move his hand over, fingertips carefully touching the healing bullet wound over the dark blue jacket at Steve’s shoulder before going to the knife wound in Steve’s wing. The ones _he_ made.

Something in his chest clenches tightly.

Steve stares up at him and he stares back, feels Steve’s right wing stretch out a little towards him like a flower to sunlight and his anger flickers out, wings relaxing down slightly before shifting forwards, slowly, to start surrounding them both like a barrier.

His thoughts are a blank mess.

He _hurt_ Steve.

 _ **How could he**_ -

The door to his left slides open and a team of agents rush in to pull him off of Steve and usher Steve out of the room, Steve calling back to him as he’s forced out.

He’s frozen, jarred, mind warring and it lets the agents force him to the ground in his shock and overwhelming emotions, unfamiliar hands on his wings that _don’t feel right_ ( _not artist hands, **none of them**_ -) and that makes him want to fight back, so he _does_.

He throws most of the agents off with a strong, violent shove of his wings and a loud growl. He _wants to see Steve_ -

Something pierces the skin of his neck in a quiet, high pitched whistle and his vision starts to go black.

He doesn’t even feel it when he hits the floor.

\--

“ _ **Why did you let them do it**.”_

_He storms into the tent, tent flaps flipping up with his abrupt entrance._

_He comes to a stop directly opposite the back of Steve’s chair where he’s sitting at the desk they gave him, pouring over maps for their next mission. Bucky sets his hands on his hips and spreads his wings as wide and tense as he can in the space, feathers flared out in his anger._

_Steve lets out a sigh when he half turns to look at him, standing up from his chair a moment later._

_Bucky watches him._

_“It was the only way,” Steve starts, voice and expression placating, “It was either this,” Steve shifts his white, paint covered wings in indication, and Bucky **hates** seeing them like that, “Or stay a ‘ **lab rat** ’ and **never** get out to the front lines. I made my choice,” Steve finishes firmly._

_Bucky’s lips flatten into an angry line. “If they **really** wanted **Captain America** , they’d accept **you** as **you are**.”_

_Steve smiles a little helplessly, lips twisting up a little bitterly, and Bucky **hates that** , too. “You and I **both** know that’s not true,” Steve says honestly._

_Bucky stares at him for a few moments before he lets out an angry sound, crossing his arms over his chest, back ramrod straight as looks off to the side, out the narrow crack of light in a small opening in the side of the tent_

_“I won’t say it’s ‘ **alright** ’- or that I **like** it,” Steve starts, and Bucky listens, “But...at least for a little while...our wings are the same color,” Steve tries a little softer, voice sounding **younger**. And Bucky can tell that he **means** that, too._

_His eyes snap over to Steve’s, a little wide, before going to the ground. He shifts slightly, body untensing enough that his wings can give a shy twitch. He shakes his head quickly and forces his wings to stiffen again as he glares back up at Steve, but he doesn’t quite feel the same level of anger that he did before._

_**Damn** him._

_Bucky stalks over and around Steve after a moment and leans over the desk with his left hand braced on top of it, looking down over the maps. “Shut up,” he grumbles, “You’re an idiot. **And** your wings are still **better** as they really **are**.”_

_Steve doesn’t say anything, and Bucky can see him biting back his automatic rejecting response out of the corner of his eye, because Bucky will **never** hear it. He doesn’t allow Steve to degrade himself, especially not when he’s in the same room._

_“Now where is that **ridge** we’re supposed to be finding,” Bucky half mumbles to get Steve to think about something else. It would be just like them to have just avoided **one** argument only to traipse right into **another** like an old married couple. They get enough ribbing about that from the rest of the guys as it is._

_Steve leans over the desk after a moment with him, bracing his right hand on it on the opposite side of the map parallel to Bucky’s. “Somewhere within this five mile radius,” Steve replies, circling the area on the map with his left index finger, but his voice still sounds a little unsure._

_Bucky shifts his right wing out to press the side of it into the side of Steve’s while they narrow down the miles even further, and he finally sees Steve crack a small smile when he glances over at him. Steve’s left wing gently presses back into the side of his own and Bucky’s lips twitch up in return. Steve’s smile widens a little further when he looks back and Bucky forces his eyes back down to the map. They have a mission to plan, and, **for now** , they’re **fine** -_

 

He sits up on the cot with a jolt, eyes wide as he stares across at the wall with his breath lodged in his throat, vision quickly adjusting to the constant lighting of the room and light gray wings shaking at his back.

When his breath comes out it’s as shaky as his wings are.

He **_remembers_** that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation again by the amazing caughtinanocean on tumblr. <3
> 
> “Мужчина с белыми крыльями” - "The man with the white wings"


	5. Crack in the glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have been listening to the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack and really want to watch it ahem.

“I want to see him again.”

Fury takes one look at Steve’s left shoulder and right wing where Steve’s stopped him in the hall, two agents turning right at the end of it passed his shoulder, and Steve knows what he’s going to say before he says it.

“No.”

Steve’s wings stiffen at his back. “But-”

“No. Not yet,” Fury cuts him off with a slight shake of his head, “I want Natasha to talk with him first. See where his head’s at. And we should run a scan on him, too. See what Hydra did up there.” Fury points to his head with an index finger and Steve’s lips flatten into a hard line, eyes dropping to the floor. Steve knows Bucky’s not alright. He’s not even _acting_ like Bucky, not outside of what happened yesterday. But Steve still needs-

“And don’t you have an appointment to get to,” Fury says, cutting through his thoughts.

Steve’s eyes dart back up to his, looking at him for a moment as he thinks.

“I want to be there,” Steve says instead of answering, and Fury looks like he’s going to reject _that_ idea too, so Steve keeps going, “I was put down as his next of kin when he enlisted. I _have_ the right. And I should be there, anyway. I’m the only familiar thing Bucky _has_.”

Fury’s mouth closes and he purses his lips while his gaze drops off to the side in thought. Finally, he looks back at Steve, one eyebrow rising slightly. “He tries anything, you protect yourself,” Fury orders, pointing at Steve, "Don’t let him drag you to the floor again.”

Steve nods once.

“And I want you in the monitor room or out of the area while he talks with Natasha,” Fury continues, “I don’t want you in there again until we have some sort of idea of what’s going on in his head.”

Steve wants to protest, but he bites his tongue and nods again. He understands the reasoning, even if he doesn’t like it.

Fury nods back before turning and walking the rest of the way down the hall.

Steve turns around to head back the other direction. He _does_ have an appointment.

\--

“Captain Rogers.”

Steve blinks, refocusing on Dr. Morrison from where his eyes had drifted to one of the side tables, hands resting loose in his lap. “Yes, ma’am?”

He’s been seeing her for a few months now and it’s gotten easier to talk about a lot of things, but he still doesn’t like to talk much. It’s personal. _His_ problems. He’s never liked anyone dealing with them but him, and that hasn’t just magically changed since 1945.

“Where were you?” she asks, leaning back a little further in her chair, fingers steepled in front of her by the points of her fingertips. She has a habit of looking slightly diabolical, but Steve’s still not sure if that’s on purpose or not.

She knows about The Winter Soldier, she has to, but Steve doesn’t think he can bring himself to talk about him yet, maybe not ever. It’s hard to consider it, even in his own head.

“Just thinking,” he says, wings relaxed at his back. As much as he can get them, anyway. He’s been a constant level of tensed since finding out Bucky was alive, or at least his body is.

Her expression remains as neutral as it always does.

“Do you want to talk about the recent...developments?” she asks, watching him carefully. “You’ve mentioned your friend twice before this happened, which _is_ great progress, Steve,” she adds.

Steve bites the inside of his lip, eyes darting to the large window to his left and what he can see of DC over the tops of the trees outside through the long, horizontal slats angled open. He looks back to her. “No. I’d rather not,” he replies. It comes out a little quieter than he’d intended.

He _has_ mentioned Bucky twice, but it’s been more in passing than any outright talking or bringing him up. He still hasn’t really talked to, or _with_ , anyone about him, still _can’t_ , maybe especially not now.

She nods once, lowering her hands into her lap, smooth gray wings resting at her back. Steve’s eyes track quickly over the feathers, neat and taken care of, like his, and nothing like the mess Bucky’s- The Winter Soldier’s were the last time Steve saw him. He’s not grooming them, and Steve’s not sure why. If it’s because he doesn’t know _how_ , because Lukin and Hydra did that _for_ him (and Steve doesn’t like thinking about that. Grooming is... _personal_ ), or for some other reason, Steve doesn’t know.

He bites the inside of his lip again and glances at the clock. Fifty minutes left.

“How was breakfast?” she asks after a few moments of silence, eyes tracking his. Breakfast is usually a safe subject.

Steve shifts his focus back to her as he opens his mouth to speak, pausing before closing it again. He doesn’t want to tell her that he couldn’t eat breakfast. Not even coffee.

Coffee. His neighbor. That’s _something_.

“I started talking to my neighbor recently,” he says instead.

She nods once, accepting the change in subject, and gestures with elegant hands for him to go on, so he does.

\--

“Clint?” he asks where he’s stopped just inside the control room after his session, door sliding closed behind him and wings flaring a little in surprise.

Clint swivels his chair a little as he turns towards him, raising a hand in greeting. “Hey, Steve.”

Steve crosses the room after a moment, taking in the three other agents as he goes while his wings relax again at his back. “You’re monitoring him?” Steve asks, coming to a stop next to the empty chair at Clint’s right.

“Well,” Clint starts, gesturing to the other agents sat at various other monitors, two at his left and one a seat away on Steve’s right. All of the screens have Bucky and Natasha on them from what Steve can see, all from various different angles in the cell. “Me, and _these people_.”

One of the agents gives Clint a dirty look and Clint grins back before focusing back on Steve. “Seat?” he offers, gesturing to the one at his right.

Steve nods and sits down, eyes going to the screen in front of him while Clint turns back around to do the same.

“Anything happen yet?” Steve asks. Natasha’s sitting with her arms crossed and Bucky- The Winter Soldier looks...still. Unnaturally still. But from what Steve’s seen of him, he seems to do that a lot.

“Nah, not really,” Clint answers while leaning back in his chair, eyes still on his monitor, “He just got done getting dressed after his _sponge bath_ right before Natasha went in and sat down,” he half jokes.

Steve’s eyes snap to him, wings going rigid against the back of his chair. “ _You’re watching him **bathe**?_ ” Steve asks, voice hard.

Clint looks over at him, and Steve catches sight of the other three agents going stiff in his periphery, wings twitchy where they all nervously glance over, watching like they’re waiting for him to _explode_.

“It’s for his _and_ the guard’s protection,” Clint says. Steve’s eyes narrow at him slightly. “He’s not the guy you remember,” Clint continues, gesturing to the screen with a hand, and Steve holds a breath while his eyes dart to it for a moment, looking back to Clint after.

Clint looks at the monitor in front of him for a moment before he speaks. “ _This_ guy can kill five men in five seconds flat with his _hands_ , and probably use a bucket for more things than even _I_ can think of. We _have_ to monitor everything.” Clint looks back to him.

Steve holds his stare for a moment before eventually dragging his eyes back to the screen and slowly letting out the breath he’d been holding, unease churning in his gut. Clint’s right, Steve knows he is, but he...really hates it.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quietly, not sure if he’s apologizing to them or to Bucky. Maybe both.

Steve hears the other three agents half turn in their chairs and can feel their gazes on him, but he keeps his eyes on the screen, on Bucky- The Winter Soldier. He shouldn’t confuse the two, it’s dangerous.

“It’s alright,” Clint says, patting Steve once on the shoulder. Steve looks over at him again. “I get it, I do,” he finishes, and he does look like he gets it.

Steve’s eyes jump back to the screen when Natasha finally starts to speak, focusing on the live feed. It’s easier than it probably should be to forget about everyone else in the room.

\--

The red woman he’d seen with Steve Rogers while trying to complete his mission stares at him from across the table, arms crossed over her chest and bright in a way that’s different from the metal of the table under his cage’s fluorescent lights.

Her wings and hair are beacons, even in the washed out, harsh white, and it makes him self-conscious of his own wings shining dull, wet and messy under the same lights. The wet hair dangling down the sides of his face, the new but same white tank top and shorts he was given sticking to him with the extra moisture.

He’s been stared at by a room full of people before, and he’s never been bothered by it. He’s a weapon, and weapons need inspection to assess their working order. But she’s not looking at him like he’s a weapon, not exactly, and he has the irrational urge to flare his wings up in defiance. He ignores the urge and stares back.

They look at each other for a few more moments, both analyzing the other, before she finally asks, “How much do you remember?”

It’s a broad question. He could say anything. She must know that.

But he considers her question seriously, looks over the puzzle of her: her perfect, near silent, finely tuned movements, her precision and red wings and hair, her expressionless face and unnerving, piercing eyes, and the pieces of red he has collected in his mind over the week finally start to coalesce and take shape. He remembers-

_Phantom sensation of delicate fingers threading through his feathers, knows they are deadly but lets them tug his errant feathers back into order with a gentle efficiency that is unique to her._

_A barely-there memory of a rundown room in Moscow, snow falling outside a tiny window and red being dyed blonde in his periphery, the smell of the chemicals harsh and bitter in his nose. Classical piano music playing nearby from scratchy, achingly old speakers-_

_A fire-_

_The small, bare feet of a child standing in the snow, watching a building burn with hair made just as bright in the cold night by the high burning flames-_

_Words exchanged in Spanish, French, Japanese. Mostly Russian-_

_Commands and fists and legs, dodging, striking. Him ordering, ”“Еще раз! Лучше!”_

_Blood on everything but them, and then they are drowning in it_ -

A name.

He does not remember the full picture, not yet, but it’s enough to answer the question.

“Enough,” he says, eyes on hers, “ _Наталия_.”

He watches her eyes widen fractionally and her wings stiffen slightly for the briefest moment before she is poised again. Anyone else might have missed it.

The bits of memories he has might be true.

“It’s Natasha now,” she says, “What do you remember about Steve Rogers?” she asks next.

It’s blunt and random, meant to throw him off balance. His eyes narrow fractionally. “Little,” he answers flatly.

She angles her head a little to the side, lips barely curving up like a cat’s. She knows he’s lying.

For the most part, she’s right. He does remember more than a _little_ , but still not much more than that. It feels like there might be a little more, somewhere, but it’s dark and blurred and in a place he can’t see.

“Let me rephrase,” she says, eyes on his, “You will be in here, alone, until we can determine that your threat level is no longer high enough to warrant it.”

“To your _S.H.I.E.L.D._ ,” he states flatly again. Her lips curve up the slightest bit more.

“Not just that, but also to _yours_ ,” she counters. His eyes narrow a little further, wings giving an uncertain, slight twitch at his back.

Her eyes dart to the motion, tracking it. He forces them still and suppresses a growl. It’s gotten harder to keep himself from reacting. Not much, but enough.

“You will be my interrogator,” he states. She untilts her head.

“I will be the wall you must pass before you are allowed to see him again,” she corrects, smirk gone and expression serious. He doesn’t doubt her words.

They stare at one another for a short while before his wings lower just slightly in acceptance, knowing she’ll see it.

She knows what he wants. Steve Rogers is one of the few he’s seen in his head that he knows is alive and within close proximity. Who may have the answers to some of the questions in his head. And based on Steve Rogers’ reaction to...what happened last time, he is most likely willing to talk to him, but cannot until S.H.I.E.L.D. _allows_ it.

She is another source, but he does not think he will be able to get as many straight answers out of her as he can more easily get out of Rogers. She is too like himself.

She is dangerous.

 _Natasha_ keeps her eyes on his, waiting, as he considers his options. But aside from getting out of this room and hunting Steve Rogers down himself, they are limited.

He finds he _hates it_.

“Я вспомнил,” he starts in Russian, making his decision. And even though he knows she will understand the language and those watching him will scramble to translate it, he feels like the old-new part of him that’s formed over the past week _likes_ being a pain in the ass.

“ _Not as much as Stevie_ ,” that same part whispers.

His lips want to twitch up in what might be a smirk, but he forces them not to. Just talks.

\--

Steve listens intently, tense in his seat the whole time while his eyes dart between the translation program working in the corner of the screen and the two people in the center of it, waiting for it, dreading it, _expecting it_ -

None of them know about it. He hasn’t told them. Fury knows, Bucky knows, _The Winter Soldier_ knows, but that’s it, and he’d been so worried about _Bucky_ that he hadn’t thought to be worried about _that_.

“ _-Баки и Стив смотрели на карту. Это все_ ,” The Winter Soldier concludes, and Steve freezes, eyes darting from the translation in the corner of the screen to the man in the center of it, double checking to make sure he read it right.

The Winter Soldier didn’t...tell her.

Steve sees Clint turn towards him out of the corner of his eye and turns his head to look at him.

“You expecting him to divulge a wet dream, Cap?” Clint jokes, leaning over to elbow him in the arm with sandy wings fluttering a little playfully behind him.

Steve forces out a small smile before looking back to the screen. “I just...I wasn’t expecting that,” Steve says after a few moments. And it’s not exactly a _lie_. He really wasn’t expecting... _that. Any_ of it.

“But it sounds accurate?” Clint asks, looking at him.

Steve nods, eyes going back to the screen. “Yes.”

He tenses a little again when Natasha asks about the specifics of the argument he remembered, but The Winter Soldier doesn’t reply, just continues sitting still as a statue like he’s been the whole time, wings an unmoving mess at his back.

Natasha rises from her chair after a few minutes of silence and Steve hears her tell The Winter Soldier they’ll be running a brain scan for the damage done and any possible triggers before exiting the room, leaving The Winter Soldier at the table with the information.

Steve lets out a quiet breath, watching The Winter Soldier finally rise from the table a moment later and walk over to sit down on the cot bolted to the wall, lying down on his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“He’s not going to do much now,” Clint informs him idly from Steve’s left. Steve blinks out of his trance and looks over. “He doesn’t, usually, once he’s laid down,” Clint says, looking over at him, “You can head home if you want,” he offers.

“Uh…” Steve trails off, momentarily drawing a blank before mentally kicking himself into gear, “I think I’ll stay, for a little while longer,” he says, somehow managing another smile.

Clint nods and scoots his chair back far enough to kick his feet up onto the console, leaning back in it while lacing his fingers behind his head.

Steve looks back to the screen where The Winter Soldier is still staring up at the ceiling, expression blank.

Bucky used to laugh so much.

Steve brings his wings up a little around his sides for some small amount of comfort, and for once, doesn’t care if anyone notices.

\--

“Alright,” the doctor says, standing in front of The Winter Soldier who’s sat on the MRI table, hunched slightly in a way that makes Steve uncomfortable from where he’s watching in the control room on the other side of the one way mirror, “This will not hurt. You will not be in danger. And I need you to stay absolutely still while the machine is on or else the scans won’t come out clear,” the doctor informs him, glancing at the armed guards surrounding them before looking back to her patient, “It _is_ going to be loud, but all it is doing is taking a photograph of your brain so that we can see how you are doing. Nothing more. I promise.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes are on her, but he’s looking at her in a way that says he has no choice and that he’s resigned to it.

He nods once, either in understanding or because she expects him to, Steve’s not sure, and he hates it.

The doctor smiles at him gently, asking him to lie down on the table, and he complies.

She turns around once he’s fully situated and gestures for the guards to step out of the room, closing the door behind her when she exits before opening the door just to the right of it and stepping into the control room Steve’s in, offering him a smile as she takes a seat at the control desk in front of the mirror.

He manages a smile back before she’s focusing on the monitors, pressing a button and speaking into a narrow mic at her right. He crosses his arms, eyes returning to Bucky.

“Can you hear me?” she asks into the mic.

“ _Yes_ ,” comes The Winter Soldier’s quiet reply.

“Good,” the doctor says, “We’re going to get started. The table is going to move.”

Steve sees him nod once and then the doctor types in a command. The table slides The Winter Soldier into the machine, wings pulled in close to his sides so they don’t hit it on the way in.

When the machine starts up, it _is_ loud, but The Winter Soldier doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t even twitch, as ordered. Steve bites the inside of his lip roughly.

The scans slowly form on the three monitors in front of the doctor from three different angles, and when they’re done she types in another command for the table to slide out of the machine, getting up after to walk over and poke her head out the door to let the guards know that they can go back in.

She closes the door behind her and sits back down at the desk while Steve watches the guards file back into the room, spilling out in a circle of black around Bucky, who sits back up when the table’s done fully sliding out, turning so that his legs dangle over the side and his hands rest on the edge, fingers curled loose over it.

“How is he?” Steve asks, looking over at her.

“I’ll give my report to Director Fury when I’m done,” she replies a little distractedly, eyes focused on the screens and brown wings shifting in restless excitement behind her.

“Doctor, Please,” Steve says a little quieter.

She looks up at him, wings stilling as she stares for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh, nodding once before her eyes go back over the scans.

“From what I can see, there seems to be damage from repeated, _very high_ level electric shocks administered over _years_ of time,” she starts, “I can’t be exactly sure _how_ far back some of this damage goes, but a lot of it looks old, _decades_ old. Some of it’s as new as a little over a week ago,” Steve swallows, “My guess would be that they try to keep him from remembering too much, or take away what he _had_ managed to get back in between his uses,” she says, looking over at him

Steve’s having a hard time processing this, any of it, and he doesn’t like her using the word ‘use’ like Bucky’s just some tool. But he tries to force it all down and nods for her to go on, chest tight.

Her eyes go back to the screens as she continues. “His apparent increased healing ability _has_ slowly been repairing the damage done since he’s been held here, since they haven’t been able to readminister whatever sort of shocks they’ve been giving him, but some of the oldest of the damage has _long since_ scarred over, and is most likely from the adjustment period when they were trying to get the voltage right and had it initially set too high,” she continues, glancing over at him again. Steve nods again after a moment and her eyes go back to the screen. He has to force himself to keep his breathing under control. It’s difficult. “And there _are_ a few triggers here that I can see, but we can deal with those.”

Steve’s quiet for a few moments, eyes dropped down and focusing on the desk as he absorbs the information, because he can’t bring himself look out the glass yet and into the other room.

“Will he be able to remember?” Steve finally asks quietly, looking back up at her.

She looks back at him again, leaning back in her chair with a sigh as her eyes go back to the monitors before looking out at The Winter Soldier in the other room. “It’s difficult to say,” she says, studying him, “It’s likely that he _will_ remember some things, but most of it is going to be _after_ the more permanent damage took place. The time before that? I really don’t know. I’d be surprised if he did.”

Steve drops his eyes back to the top of the desk, blinking against the sting at the backs of his eyes and trying to keep himself together. He can’t fall apart here.

“But,” she continues, and he looks back up, “Given his apparent healing rate, and all of the other factors, he’s probably been given a serum similar to yours, and _you’ve_ surprised us all,” she says, offering him another smile. His lips twitch up a little in return, but it’s all he can manage right now, and she seems to understand that. Her eyes go back to her patient in the other room, expression going serious and considering for a moment. “But that’s not accounting for _how_ he will deal with it,” she says.

Steve stands up a little straighter, hands dropping back to his sides and wings stiffening slightly at his back with anxiety. “How do you mean?” he asks.

Her eyes shift back to him. “Psychologically,” she answers. Steve’s lips flatten a little in the beginnings of understanding and she nods once, looking back out at the other room. “Even if he _does_ remember things from _before_ the damage, and it’s _before_ his time as The Winter Soldier, there’s no telling how he’ll handle or process that information. He’s been someone _other_ than the man you remember for so long, it’s difficult to say how getting memories back of being who he _was_ before being who he is _now_ will be handled.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, white lab coat bunching up at the elbows. “I’ve only studied psychology a little, it’s not really my field, but from what I _do_ know he could very well end up shutting that information out. And while we’re not entirely sure how he’s been kept from aging - there’s a few theories - seventy years is still a long time.”

Steve finally looks over into the other room, clenched heart beating faster in his chest and wings flaring out a little in surprise. The Winter Soldier is looking directly at him.

He can’t see or hear Steve past the mirror, Steve knows that, but it feels like he can.

\--

Fury makes him wait three more days before finally letting Steve into the room, saying he had Natasha and an ‘expert’ deal with the issue of the triggers. He told Steve they were neutralized, but that that, “ _Does not make him **safe to be around**_.” Steve’s not ignorant. He knows he’s not...exactly “ _safe to be around_.” Steve still needs to see him.

He takes a steadying breath in front of the cell door, ignoring the curious gazes he can feel on his back and wings from the heavily armed guards stationed along the hall behind him pretending that they’re not looking at him.

He nods his head once to signal the control room that he’s ready and the door slides open. He steps inside.

As soon as he does, he’s met with blue-gray eyes that widen slightly and light gray wings ( _white, they should be **white**_ -) that flare a little in surprise. Steve stops just passed the door, hyper aware of it sliding closed behind him - barely brushing his feathers - and the _thump-thump-thump_ of his heart pumping his blood fast in his ears.

He tries not to fidget as they stare at each other in the stretching silence.

Bucky- The Winter Soldier, Steve can’t afford to mistake the two, even if Bucky _is_ still in there somewhere - slowly relaxes where he’s cross legged on the cot, wings resting at his back and expression going blank, but his eyes are as piercing as they’ve been since the moment Steve first saw them in Kronas Corp. It’s surreal seeing Bucky’s body, but not really seeing Bucky in it _at all_.

Steve’s wings give a small, uncomfortable twitch at his back under the gaze and The Winter Soldier’s eyes shift to it before going back to Steve’s face. A light gray, right wing edges forward a little and The Winter Soldier looks at it like it’s foreign to him, body doing something his mind hasn’t caught up to yet. His eyes dart back to Steve, focusing on Steve’s right wing for a moment before going back up to his face.

“Your wing,” The Winter Soldier starts, quiet in a way Steve only remembers Bucky being late in the night or when he was talking about his father, which wasn’t often. Steve stands up a little straighter. “It’s...healed,” he finishes, sentence lilting slightly on the end like he’s not sure if he means it as a statement or a question. Steve answers anyway.

“It is.” He stretches his own right wing out a little so it’s easier for him to see.

The Winter Soldier’s eyes go to it with a laser-like focus before he nods to himself once, right wing retracting to rest again at his back, apparently satisfied with whatever it is he sees.

Steve lets his wing relax at his own back, as well.

The Winter Soldier stares at him, and even with the million things Steve wants to say all he can really do is stare back.

“I was meant to kill you,” The Winter Soldier says after a few moments of silence. Steve doesn’t tense. Doesn’t even blink. “I _should_ kill you. You’re my mission.” The Winter Soldier’s expression goes some small mix between frustrated and confused, like he’s warring with himself about it, and something in Steve breaks a little more. At that. At the words.

“In a lot of ways,” Steve starts quietly, and The Winter Soldier’s eyes focus back on him, “The important ones. I think I was always your mission, Buck.”

The Winter Soldier’s eyes widen fractionally and he sits up a little straighter, and Steve bites the inside of his lip, mentally kicking himself. He didn’t want to use any names, but it came out as natural as breathing. Like it always has. Even now. Even like this, in this nightmare of a reality where Bucky’s alive but he’s not entirely Bucky.

Steve watches The Winter Soldier’s expression go blank again while his eyes drop to the floor, processing, and Steve has to force himself to wait, even though his heart somehow manages to feel like it’s sinking in his chest and speeding up all at once.

The Winter Soldier’s eyes dart back up to him and Steve’s wings freeze briefly, caught.

Right. He can hear that now.

The Winter Soldier’s expression clears a little after a moment, becoming something more...expressive, more _familiar_ , and he uncrosses a leg to put his foot down on the floor, slowly standing up from the cot with his left arm hanging immobile at his side. “I thought…” The Winter Soldier starts, trailing off a little as his eyebrows pull together for a moment, expression clearing again as he continues, “I thought you were...smaller.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and there are tears forming quick and fast in his eyes whether he wants them to or not. He chokes out, “ _I thought you were **dead**._ ”

And just like that, a dam breaks. Bucky shifts and stands up a little straighter, blinking back the rapidly building shine in his own eyes, because he _is_ Bucky now.

“ _No, Stevie. I’m right here_ ,” he says quietly, voice just as choked up as Steve’s.

Steve bites the inside of his lip, fingers curling into fists at his sides, trying to keep himself from running over. It’s one of the hardest things he thinks he’s ever done.

Bucky’s left wing stretches out slowly, a little hesitantly at first, but slowly crossing the space between them more confidently. Steve stretches his right out a little eagerly in return, bright white feathers brushing the outside of darker ones where they overlap and meet in the middle. Steve takes a shaky breath, eyes shifting from their wings to focus on Bucky.

Bucky’s body is tense, like he’s trying to keep himself on his own side of the room. Steve’s not entirely sure if Bucky wants to cross the room to hurt him or hug him. Wonders if Bucky’s not sure, either.

He presses his feathers a little more firmly into Steve’s, the motion familiar and seventy-three years missed, and Steve does the same in return. His expression is more open than Steve’s seen it since Steve found out he was alive, and full of a kind of pain and longing that Steve’s seen in his mirror repeatedly since he woke up.

Steve blinks, forcing the tears blurring up his vision to slide down his cheeks in time to see Bucky do the same, tears slipping down into the scruff now covering his face that looks strange on him. The hair does, too. But not _bad_ , just... _different_.

Bucky blinks rapidly a couple of times, eyes widening in surprise while his right hand comes up to wipe at one of his cheeks, pulling it back so he can look at it. He looks back up at Steve after a moment. “I don’t think I’ve cried in over fifty years,” he says, and it sounds both like a rusty attempt at a joke and like he might be a little in shock.

Steve’s face goes a little pinched even as he laughs a little shakily. “I might have done it a lot more recently.” Bucky’s expression sobers at that and Steve wipes at his cheeks with a hand for the distraction. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not here. Not now. Not where he knows people will see.

When he looks back up, Bucky’s expression has softened a little and his wing presses a little more into Steve’s. Steve presses his own back, smiling a little. It feels like one of the most honest ones he’s given since 1944.

Bucky’s lips twitch up a little in return, and it might not be much, but Steve will take it.

“Can I…?” Steve trails off after a moment, nodding slightly towards the cot.

Bucky stiffens before shaking his head, pulling his wing back quickly.

Steve misses it already, but slowly pulls back his own.

“They’ve told you about me,” Bucky states, and Steve nods slightly, even though it’s not a question, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Steve stands up a little straighter, wings going stiff at his back. “You can’t expect me to _not_ be here,” he says.

Bucky’s eyes go so sad for a moment before he closes them, a small, slightly bitter twist to his lips while he shakes his head before looking at the ground. “No,” he says before looking back up, “No. I can’t expect that.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and Bucky lets out a sigh before standing up straighter, squaring his shoulders and looking Steve dead in the eyes. “But you shouldn’t come back. You should never come back”

A small amount of panic wedges itself somewhere in Steve’s chest and Steve looks at him for a few moments, _really_ looks. At the now harder lines of him. The scars he can see on his arms and legs. The ones he can only imagine hidden from view. The ice creeping into his eyes. The mess of his feathers and temporary staining of his wings. He has the slightly absurd thought that Bucky won’t be able to get them as white as they should be without something stronger than soap to clean them with.

“You remember me,” Steve says instead, quietly, looking at him. Bucky’s wings give a slight twitch at his back, but he keeps his expression focused. Not blank, but hard.

“Some,” Bucky says after another moment, eyes dropping to the ground. “I remember dancing. You, smaller, pulled into my side. You smiling. Your fingers- covered in charcoal,” he smoothly redirects, looking back up at Steve.

Steve’s wings give a small twitch, can feel the hope rising back up in his chest finding its way onto his face.

Bucky’s expression softens for the briefest moment before his eyes go hard again and Steve tries to steel himself for something he knows he’s probably not going to like.

“It’s not enough, Steve,” Bucky says seriously, “I remember enough to know you’re...important. To me. But it’s not enough. I’m not _safe_ ,” he says, voice going pleading on the end. “It’s a mess up here,” he says, pointing at his head with a finger, expression going a little dark and voice lowering as he drops his hand back to his side, “And it’s not just me.”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together a little, trying to puzzle that out. “What do you mean?” he asks quietly.

Bucky’s eyes dart to the side, but snap back to him when Steve takes a step forward, glaring at him in warning.

Steve stops and takes the step back, fingers curling into frustrated fists at his sides. “Buck, what do you mean.”

Bucky shakes his head, brings his hand up to cover his eyes. “You need to go,” he repeats roughly, “I don’t want you around him.”

“Buck-” Steve starts.

“ _I SAID GET OUT!_ ” Bucky yells, eyes wild when his hand slashes down through the air and he looks at him.

Steve takes another step back, surprised, back hitting the door and eyes a little wide.

“ _Get. Out_ ,” Bucky orders, voice rough and strained as he stares at Steve, breaths coming a little fast.

Steve doesn’t make any sudden movements, because you never should in front of a predator. And right now, Bucky might as well _be_ one.

Steve’s distantly aware of the door sliding open, smooth against his feathers, and he takes slow steps back until he’s clear of it and in the hall, looking at Bucky through the doorway. His eyes are on Steve’s like a wild animal’s, body tense and wings twitching minutely, repeatedly at his back like he’s forcing himself to stay where he is.

Just before the door slides shut, Steve gets a glimpse of Bucky’s face crumpling for half a second before his expression goes blank and his eyes go cold, and then Steve’s staring at the gray cement, chills shooting like electricity up and down his spine.

He stares for a long moment before turning sharply and walking quickly down the hall, turning left at the end of it, mind racing and breath a little fast.

He’s not entirely sure what he just saw, but now he knows that Bucky really _is_ in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation by the awesome caughtinanocean on tumblr. <3
> 
> “Еще раз! Лучше!” - "Again! Better!"  
> "Наталия" - "Natalia"  
> "Я вспомнил" - "I remembered"  
> “-Баки и Стив смотрели на карту. Это все,” - "Bucky and Steve looked at the map. That's all,"


	6. Splinter

Steve scrubs his hair dry with a towel while he walks to his bedroom in the dark, shadow crisscrossing over the glow of the bathroom light streaking out along the hall floor and walls.

He tosses the towel into the basket in the corner he keeps for dirty laundry without looking on his way to the dresser, pulling open a couple of drawers and getting out a pair of boxers and sweatpants, slipping them both on before clasping a loose tshirt on a moment later, leaving the drawers open in his distraction while his mind goes over his visit with...Bucky for the thousandth time.

He’s not sure what to think, still, even an hour later.

His cellphone vibrating on the nightstand pulls him from his thoughts, a small beacon of light in the room. Steve walks over and picks it up, swiping his thumb across the screen to unlock it before pushing ‘answer’ and bringing it up to his ear, not saying a word. He already knows who it is.

“ _You’re not gonna ask?_ ” Fury asks after a silent moment, voice coming out crystal clear over the small speakers.

“That wasn’t Bucky,” Steve says, voice calm, “It was for a bit, but not at the end. I don’t completely understand what happened. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

What he doesn’t say is that it was terrifying seeing Bucky disappear that way, in a way that Steve couldn’t just grab him and keep him from falling ( _again_ ). In a way he can’t _do_ anything about ( ** _again_** ).

He doesn’t say the man that took his place scared him down past his bones. He’s talked with The Winter Soldier before, but that time was _different_ , much different.

Fury sighs quietly over the line, pulling Steve back from his thoughts. He can easily picture him leaning back in his desk chair and turning to look out his office windows at the night view of DC. “ _The Winter Soldier_ ,” Fury says, a little resigned. Steve’s mouth flattens into a line. “ _Natasha called him ‘Yasha’ once, when she went to see him after you left. He told her he wanted to be called ‘ **James** ’_.” Fury sounds amused, but only in the way that means he’s anything but.

Steve half turns to look at his bed before backing up and sitting down on the edge of it, eyes on the dark wood of his floor and the slanting of car lights that slide and cut off across the cool, smooth surface beneath his bare feet.

The strange thing is, The Winter Soldier didn’t look quite like that before. There was more anger there in the ice this time, not just precision or minor amusement or interest, and Steve’s never seen anger quite like that before, anger so…

Steve’s been in more life or death situations than he really wants to try and count, but this is one of the few times where he felt like that anger would be the end of him, and it _scared_ him, in some place down deep that he can’t name or put a word to.

He’s been scared before, he’s been scared a lot, but never quite like that.

The Winter Soldier, from what Steve’s experienced, is a match for him in strength, speed, and tactics. Might even be a little better in all three. And maybe that’s part of why Steve found him so terrifying, aside from the fact that he’s technically still Bucky. It’s that he’s like Steve, close even to how Steve is now. It’s a lot like looking at the side of you you’re afraid of in a mirror and realizing it’s not held _back_ by that mirror. That it _could_ really _end you_. The fact that they’re only marginally different just makes it worse.

“‘ _James_ ’,” Steve repeats after a moment, voice quiet, “I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry.”

Fury makes an agreeing sound before letting out another sigh. “ _This makes things a little more difficult_ ,” he says, and Steve listens. “ _I talked with a psychologist about it after Natasha’s session with him earlier, and they said it sounds like he’s developing his own personality, **separate** from your friend James Buchanan Barnes_.”

Steve’s eyes glance in the direction of the phone. “Does that mean...” he trails off.

“ _That we’ve got a bit of a ‘Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde’ situation going on?_ ” Fury continues for him, “ _Yeah. It’s starting to look that way. And we’re not yet entirely sure how to proceed_.”

Steve’s throat tries to close up and he forces himself to breathe slowly, trying to keep Fury from hearing how choked it sounds. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, trying to focus on something _other_ than the insistent swirl of emotions in his chest. “So what do we do?” Steve asks, and he manages to sound a lot steadier than he feels. But then again, he’s had a lot of practice.

“ _For now, we keep working with him_ ,” Fury answers, “ _You too. If you’re up for it_.”

Steve drops his hand back to the edge of the bed, gripping it while glancing at the floor. “You want _me_ to talk to _The Winter Soldier_ ,” Steve says a little flatly, incredulous, “The _last time_ we interacted, he got absorbed in a memory and shoved me against a wall. I don’t think I’m going to be much help.”

“ _He specifically **asked** for you_ ,” Fury says. Steve sits up straighter, wings flaring out at his back. “ _The environment will be controlled, if he’s only asking for you to finish his mission_ ,” Fury continues, “ _And if it helps, it won’t always **be** The Winter Soldier. Think about that_.”

Steve glances over at his blinds in thought. He does want to see Bucky, he has to, but The Winter Soldier is...different. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to help with _that_. What he could possibly do to...He’s not even sure what there is _to_ do. And if Fury ends up trying to get him to _tame The Winter Soldier_ by using his desire to help _Bucky_...

Steve lets out a quiet sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. That’s more complicated than he wants to go right now. “Alright,” he finally answers, opening his eyes to look at the other end of his room, “I’ll do it. But I don’t think this is going to go very well.”

“ _Duly noted_ ,” Fury says, and Steve can hear the small smirk in his voice.

The line disconnects and Steve pulls the phone down to end the call from his end before dropping it on his nightstand, shifting to flop back on top of his bed spread-eagle and stare up at the car lights that occasionally slant across his ceiling, thoughts a constant loop of _Bucky Winter Soldier **Bucky**._ Of Bucky’s crumpling face and his wing touching Steve’s. Of his words and The Winter Soldier’s angry-blank expression just before the door slid shut.

Steve lets his eyes unfocus before finally closing them, and almost welcomes the snow that always falls behind his eyelids when he does.

\--

_Just a little further- He’s **almost there** -_

_The rail snaps and they’re moving too fast and Bucky won’t be able to glide **or** fly and the angle’s all wrong and Bucky’s tumbling away into the ravine with a yell and Steve’s yelling his name, hand reaching out desperately even though there’s **nothing left to grab** and he thinks, **What good is having wings when you can’t even save the person most important to you from falling**-_

 

Steve’s eyes snap open where he’s lying on his stomach, left hand stretched out across the bed and throat raw. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the barely lit, faint, early morning glow of the room and not on the remnants of snow covered mountains and water far, far down below.

He fists his hand in the sheets, an old ache deep in his chest and jaw clenched on the remnants of a scream. He can hear birds whistling outside. If he lets his mind unfocus, it sounds like wind whistling instead.

Steve closes his eyes for a moment before pushing himself up off of the bed and heading for the bathroom, stripping his clothes off and leaving them on the hallway floor as he goes.

\--

“He may ask you about the past, he may ask you about the serum, he may ask you about the weather,” Natasha says in the hallway just outside of the cell. Steve blinks. “Whatever it is, keep in mind that you do not have to answer. He may try and use any seemingly vital information against you. And whatever you do, do not _trust_ what he _says_.”

Steve leans back a little, wings giving a small jerk. “So, you want me to assume he’s lying about everything and only tell him innocuous details.”

“Yes,” Natasha says, raising an eyebrow when Steve frowns. “Problem?”

“No, it’s just…” Steve trails off, glancing over her shoulder at the cell door.

“Steve,” she says, voice firm. Steve looks back. Her expression looks as serious as it tends to on missions. “He may call himself ‘James,’ but he is _not_ Bucky. You _cannot_ trust him right now,” she says, eyes intent on his.

Steve frowns a little more, looking at the door again before looking back at her. He nods. “Alright. I understand.”

Natasha studies him for a long moment before stepping aside, and Steve walks passed her to stand in front of the door, turning his head to look back at her for a moment where she meets his gaze, taking a steadying breath before looking back at the door. He nods once and steps inside when it slides open.

The Winter Soldier- _James_ is already sat up on the cot, back to the wall with one knee pulled up and his right forearm resting on top of it. His other leg is folded in front of him and his left arm is still immobile at his side. He can’t have control of it yet, for obvious reasons.

His eyes track Steve when he walks in and when Steve moves over to take a seat at the table. Steve watches him right back.

James stares at him for another moment before sliding his leg down over the edge of the cot and setting his foot on the floor, standing up with a feline kind of grace - much more refined than Bucky’s own brand of grace ever was - and walking over to slowly take the seat opposite him.

They stare at each other.

Steve’s not sure what to say. Natasha’s warning and Bucky’s yelling are stuck on repeat in his head, his conversation with Fury from last night. All of it’s distracting and making it hard to think, about what he should do, what he should say. About what he _shouldn’t_ do and what he _shouldn’t_ say.

Steve looks over James’ blank expression, his unnaturally still wings, his angry eyes, and lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Steve asks.

James blinks at him, staring at him for another moment before leaning back a little in his chair, just a fraction off from looking truly comfortable, like he doesn’t really know _how_ to be comfortable. Steve tries not to think about it.

“Questions,” James says, voice quiet.

“Ask,” Steve returns, some of his exhaustion bleeding through into his voice.

James studies him for another moment, right forearm resting on the table. “And you will just tell me,” he says. Steve can tell he’s suspicious even without actually seeing it in his face or hearing it blatant in his familiar-unfamiliar voice. And it’s strange hearing Bucky talk but in a way that Bucky’s never talked a day in his life. The tone is lower, quieter, stiffer. More like something you’d hear in the night instead of during the day.

“Are you expecting me not to?” Steve counters, both forearms on the table.

James’ eyes narrow fractionally, watching him for few moments before he asks, “Who are you?”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve answers automatically.

James doesn’t move. “That is not what I mean.”

Steve doesn’t move either. “I’m your friend.”

“ _Bucky’s_ ,” James corrects, expression darkening a little.

Steve’s eyebrows pull together a little. Right...That.

“I could...be yours too,” Steve says. James stares at him. “...If you wanted.”

Now _James’_ eyebrows pull together, expression going a little confused as he looks at him. “I have no need for a friend,” he says, like it’s obvious.

Steve leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, one eyebrow rising a little. “Really?” he asks honestly.

James’ eyes drop down to the tabletop in thought, quiet for a few moments before he looks back up at Steve. “You were smaller,” he states.

Steve nods once. “Yes, I was,” he confirms.

James doesn’t say anything more and Steve holds in a sigh. He’s not very easy to talk to.

“I was given Doctor Erskine’s serum,” Steve explains after a few moments when he doesn’t say anything else, “Zola gave you- Bucky, something similar in a Hydra base in Austria in 1943.”

James’ eyes have dropped to the table again, darting back and forth slightly like he’s reading information on it that Steve can’t see.

Finally, he looks back up, expression blank again and eyes darting briefly to both of Steve’s wings, which give a slight twitch in response, anxiety clawing its way up Steve’s throat as he braces for it. The question that was bound to happen sooner or later, especially if Bucky- _James_ can’t remember the _why_.

“You and Bucky argued,” James states, and Steve nods once, watching him. James looks at Steve and Steve doesn’t see any of the kind of recognition he saw in Bucky’s eyes yesterday. “Why?” James asks.

Of all the things he could ask, could try to get out of Steve: secrets, codes, mission details- he chooses that. It is personal, which also makes it important information, but it’s still…

Steve tries to push down the hope in his chest, Natasha’s warning still echoing in his head.

“He didn’t approve,” Steve answers. James doesn’t say anything, just watches him, so he decides to try going on. “He didn’t...He fought hard, for me, and I...It was the only way, at the time.” Which is vague, maybe _too_ vague, but it’s hard to talk about it without giving too much away and making it obvious. He can only hope James understood.

James is quiet for a few moments, expression slightly contemplative. “Why not change it?”

Steve uncrosses his arms and rests his forearms back on the table, looking down at them. There’s no way to answer that without showing some part of himself that James can use against him later. Without him seeing more of Steve than Steve is comfortable with. But…

Steve looks back up. “Before Bucky fell, it was something that needed to be done,” Steve starts, forcing himself to look back into James’ cold and...attentive stare, “After...It was a reminder, and the only thing I had left.”

James looks at him for a long moment before nodding once, eyes glancing to the side as he thinks. Steve keeps his heart rate down and his breathing steady. It’s difficult.

“How does it…” Steve finds himself saying without meaning to, drawing James’ eyes back to him, “You’re...aware of Bucky, but you’re not...him,” he continues, “How does it work?”

James’ expression darkens again and Steve holds in another sigh. It’s a good thing he wasn’t really expecting an answer.

“Why do I feel your fingers in my feathers when I try to groom them,” James demands instead of answering, and Steve sits up a little straighter.

“Because I’ve helped you- Bucky, groom them,” Steve replies, biting the inside of his lip. It’s not exactly _appropriate behavior_ , having someone other than immediate family or a lover or spouse do it, but-

James’ eyes narrow. “You were lovers,” he says.

Steve shakes his head. “No, we weren’t.”

James tilts his head a little to one side, studying him, and it makes Steve uncomfortable, so he continues, which might’ve been the goal.

“We looked after each other,” Steve says, wings pulling a little closer to his back in his discomfort, “Bucky bandaged me up and helped me more times than I can count, and I did the same for him. It’s just...what we did.”

One of James’ wings gives a slight twitch while he watches Steve, and Steve keeps his own from doing the same.

They don’t talk for a few minutes after that.

“Do you…” Steve breaks the silence, “Want me to?” He gestures a little towards Bucky’s wings and James shifts slightly in his chair, pulling his wings in a little closer to his back and shaking his head after a moment.

“Alright,” Steve says quietly, hands still resting relaxed on the tabletop.

They’re both silent for an hour after that, just watching each other, or, in Steve’s case, watching James and the room and tabletop, in between looking and waiting for any signs of more questions or Bucky. It’s not exactly a _comfortable_ silence, but it’s not exactly uncomfortable either.

The door eventually slides open behind him and Steve takes that as his cue to leave, getting up from the table and making his way over.

He stops at the doorway when he hears a shift behind him and turns around to see James standing next to his chair, watching him. He doesn’t say anything, just watches, and Steve looks at him for a moment before exiting the room, listening to the door slide shut behind him.

That could’ve gone...worse.

It could have gone better, too.

\--

“You look like someone took your shield and ran off with it,” Clint says.

Steve grunts into his cereal, sliding a spoonful into his mouth before setting his spoon back into the large bowl and swirling some of the honeynut cheerios around while he chews, not looking up.

“What time is it?” he asks after he swallows.

“About midnight,” Clint replies, taking the seat opposite him in the near empty cafeteria. There’s a few other agents on the other side, eating their own late night snack or dinner, but aside from them, Clint, and Steve, it’s empty.

Steve hums quietly in acknowledgment, scooping up another spoonful.

“Went that well, huh?” Clint asks a little quieter after a few moments.

Steve grunts again, eyes shifting to the side while he chews another mouthful.

“I haven’t seen the feed yet, but Natasha told me the gist of it,” Clint says, “Sounds like he just wanted some answers for some of the confusing stuff in his head. But he’s trained well, so there’s a lot there he can work with if he wants to. I won’t lie and say he probably won’t.”

“I almost don’t care if he does,” Steve says quietly after he swallows, finally looking up, “I just want to talk to Bucky again.”

Clint’s expression softens a little and he nods once before crossing his forearms on the table and and leaning on them. “Yeah, I get that,” Clint says, looking at him, “But you still need to be careful. And I know you’re tired of hearing it,” Clint adds when Steve opens his mouth to protest. Steve closes it again. “We’re not exactly sure what _James_ is doing. He’s a wild card. He could have a Hydra agenda or one of Lukin’s in mind, he could not. He might try to kill you again, he might not. He might eventually bust out, he might not. It’s all up in the air. Everything’s too uncertain. So, just be careful with what you give him, because we don’t know what he might do with it, is all I’m saying.”

“I _know_ ,” Steve says a little testily, looking at Clint a little apologetically after a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says, “And I know. Natasha told me. Fury warned me. I just…” Steve trails off, letting go of his spoon to rub his forehead with a hand, “I just wish I could talk to Bucky. I just wish I could sit in that room and not feel like a butterfly trapped under someone’s microscope. I wish none of what’s happened has happened to him. I wish I didn’t know some of the details of that that I _do_ , and I know there’s still a lot more that I _don't_. I wish we could go flying like we used to, and not have to worry about... _any of this_.” Steve’s voice cracks a little and he bites his tongue. He’s not going to cry here, he won’t allow it.

He hears Clint let out a quiet sigh and shift a little before he feels a hand on his arm and looks up. Clint smiles a little, soft instead of teasing. One of his more honest, rare ones.

Steve’s lips twitch up a little before he smiles back, dropping his hand to grab his spoon again and take another bite of his cereal, Clint pulling his hand back as he does.

They sit together in companionable silence for a few minutes before Natasha comes in, walking fast, catching Steve’s attention before stopping next to the side of the table. “He’s asking for you,” she says quietly, “The _other_ one,” she adds meaningfully.

Steve’s eyes widen and he shoves himself up off of the table’s attached bench and almost trips over it in his haste, abandoning his cereal bowl as he takes off running down the cafeteria and through the halls, ignoring the curious looks from the few agents he passes.

He spots Fury standing next to the cell door, who turns to look at him when Steve’s a few feet away, coming to a stop in front of him, breathing picked up.

“He’s mad,” is all Fury says, stepping aside to give Steve access to the door.

Steve swallows, taking a few breaths to try and slow his breathing down as he steps forward, walking into the cell when the door opens.

He quickly finds Bucky pacing back and forth in front of the cot, wings pulled tight to his back. As soon as he hears Steve step in he spins around, eyes a little wild, and then he’s striding forward and grabbing onto the front of Steve’s shirt, shoving him back against the closed door while his wings flare up high and angry behind him.

“I told you _not to come back_ ,” he says angrily, “And you have a _fucking conversation with him? Steve_.”

Steve stares at him, wings trapped between his back and the wall and heart somewhere up in his throat, because he’s _Bucky_ again.

“ ** _Steve_** ,” Bucky repeats a little harder, shoving him a little further into the wall.

“Yes! _Yes, alright!_ ” Steve lets out, pushing Bucky back, whose eyes widen, “ _Yes_ I came back! _Yes_ I had a conversation with him! _Yes_ I know I can’t _trust_ him! _But I can’t just_...I can’t just _leave you in here_ and do _nothing_. I _had_ to come back,” Steve finishes, chest heaving slightly and wings having spread out behind him. He pulls them back in when he notices, eyes darting to the side for a moment before he looks back at Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes are still a little wide and his wings have frozen somewhere between _still-angry_ and _surprise_. Bucky blinks a couple times before pulling himself out of it, expression and posture going tense and angry again. “You _can’t_ come _back here_ ,” Bucky repeats, practically pleading, “He could be trying to get to you. He could be trying to get things _out_ of you. He could end up _killing you!_ ” he yells, slowly edging forward.

“ _I know the risks!_ ” Steve yells back, wings flaring up to match Bucky’s, unconsciously taking steps to match him, “And if he is then just _tell me!_ ”

“That’s not _how it works!_ ” Bucky’s wings jerk up sharply, rising up higher, longer feathers bending where they meet the ceiling and face now right in front of Steve’s.

“ _Then how does it work?!_ ” Steve’s own wings do the same, matching him, “ _Because I’m going to keep coming back whether I know for sure or not!_ ”

“ _Of all the **stupid** -!_” Bucky cuts off, panting slightly. He grits his teeth before letting out a frustrated sound and jerking his wings down, turning and walking a few paces away with his right hand clenched into a tight fist at his side.

Steve brings his own wings down slowly, unclenching his own fists and taking a few calming breaths. “Bucky…” he trails off, softer.

“I don’t know how well I can explain it,” Bucky says quietly after a few moments, voice strained and still turned away from Steve, “It’s not like I know what he’s _thinking_ or even really _feeling_. I get...glimpses, flashes, _impressions_. I don’t see everything _he_ sees and he doesn’t see everything _I_ see. It’s hard to explain.” Bucky finally turns around to look at him and he looks tired in ways Steve’s all too familiar with.

Steve takes a step forward, testing, crossing the rest of the space between them when Bucky doesn’t take a step back. “Buck,” Steve says quietly when he stops in front of him, bringing his left wing up to gently nudge his, “I won’t leave you behind again. _I can’t. I’d rather_...I just can’t.”

Bucky looks like he’s either about to yell at him again or cry, maybe both, but he just lets out a long sigh, wing finally nudging back against Steve’s a little reluctantly. “You took all the stupid with you,” he says grudgingly.

“Well yeah, you gave it back when I found you,” Steve replies, smile a little watery.

Bucky’s lips twitch up before he frowns, turning away to move over and drop down onto the cot and slouch back against the cement wall. “You’re an idiot, Steve,” he says quietly.

“It’s been said,” Steve returns, just as quiet, staying where he is until Bucky pulls his right wing in closer to himself to clear a space for him.

Steve walks over, taking a seat next to him and leaning forward to brace his forearms on his knees. “I’ve missed talking to you,” Steve says quieter, after a few moments of them just breathing, “I’ve missed _you_.”

Bucky leans over after a moment to knock his right shoulder into Steve’s left and Steve lets out a quiet, watery laugh, letting himself rock slightly with the motion. He sniffles passed the tears building in his eyes and looks over to see that Bucky seems to be faring about the same.

“I missed you too, punk,” Bucky says quieter, lips lifting up into a small smile.

“Jerk,” Steve replies, smiling back.

After a moment, Steve shifts back to lean his back against the wall with Bucky, staring down at their white and light gray feathers on the cot in the small space between them. They listen to each other breathe, Steve knowing it’s _Bucky_ who he’s sharing his breaths and the space with.

“What are you still doing here, anyway?” Bucky asks quietly, pulling Steve’s attention back to him, “It’s late, isn’t it?” Bucky glances over at him and Steve nods, eyes dropping back to their wings.

“Yeah,” he replies, “But I didn’t want to go to my apartment in case you showed up to yell at me,” Steve half teases.

He hears Bucky huff a frustrated breath and looks up to see him staring across the room. “I’d yell at you about something _else_ if we weren’t being _monitored_ ,” Bucky says, looking over at him sternly.

Steve drops his eyes to his lap, careful to avoid looking at the bright white feathers made brighter under the harsh lights. After all this time, he’s gotten used to the color. It’s strange seeing them when they’re _not_ white now.

“Did you hear any of that? Earlier.” Steve asks quietly, keeping his eyes on his lap and off of Bucky.

“Some,” Bucky answers just as quiet. “And I do remember falling, you know,” he says after a few moments. Steve’s eyes dart over to him, widening.

“Before that’s kind of a blur,” Bucky continues, looking over, “But Steve. It wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault, and you need to stop being so convinced that it is.”

Steve’s already shaking his head slightly, eyes dropping back to his lap. “But I _lead the mission_ , _Buck_. I couldn’t catch you. And these big wings I have now,” Steve says, shifting them slightly, “I couldn’t do _anything_ with them. I failed you.”

“ _Fuck, Steve_ ,” Bucky lets out, and Steve looks over to see he looks as angry and exasperated as he sounds. “I wasn’t _two_. I knew the risks, and I knew what I was getting into.”

“You wanted to go home,” Steve says quietly, a little defeated, “You might not remember that. And I made you stay.”

“You didn’t _make_ me-” Bucky starts, but Steve cuts him off.

“I did,” he says, still quiet. Bucky closes his mouth and looks at him, eyebrows pulled together a little but expression serious. “I _did_ , Buck. You would never have stayed or went along if I hadn’t been the one asking. I _know_ you wouldn’t’ve.”

Bucky stares at him for a moment before closing his eyes briefly with a quiet sigh, leaning his head back against the wall to stare up at the ceiling. “That does sound like something I would do,” he says, “ But I still don’t blame you for what happened,” he continues, angling his head to look over at Steve, “With what I _do_ remember, I know I would have followed you anywhere, whether you asked me to or not.” Steve frowns slightly. “And even if I knew what would happen, all of this,” Bucky gestures at the room and their situation in general, “I would still _choose_ to get on that train, second at your back, because that’s where I _belonged_. Between you and whatever ugly thing that’s tryin’ to beat you into the ground.”

Bucky’s eyes are soft on him, so open and honest.

Steve blinks a few times to try and stave off the tears but they slip down his cheeks anyway, and he has to bite his lips together to keep from making any sound.

Bucky smiles a little sadly, reaching up with his right hand to wipe the tears away. “When did you get to become such a water factory,” he says quietly, gently teasing, but his eyes are shining too.

Steve huffs a broken laugh, leaning a little into Bucky’s arm. “Since I woke up,” he whispers, but the speakers are still going to pick it up and the agents, his _friends_ , watching are still going to know what he said.

Bucky’s expression sobers again and he leans down to rest his forehead against Steve’s, bringing his left wing up to block them from view. It’s a small comfort, but it means the world. “I’m sorry,” Bucky says quietly, and Steve shakes his head slightly.

“Buck, no-” he starts.

“I know,” Bucky says quietly, “I can’t really apologize for fallin' off a train, but I’m sorry you were left alone.”

“I have friends,” Steve tries to defend, still quiet, but Bucky just looks at him like he can see right through him, like he’s made of glass. And he might as well be. Bucky’s always been able to see him in ways no one else can. He’s glad that hasn’t changed. Even the fighting feels familiar, like he got something back he lost a long time ago.

Steve lets out a quiet sigh, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, too,” he whispers instead, opening his eyes again to look at him.

Bucky smiles again, small, but it’s still open and honest and Steve knows he means it.

They stay like that for a while, Steve’s head eventually ending up on Bucky’s right shoulder and Bucky’s head resting on top of his, leaned into each other like collapsing buildings, and Steve hasn’t felt like this in so long, knows it’s been even longer for Bucky.

Bucky shifts a little after a moment, but keeps his wing in place around the front of them both, a cocoon. “You should go,” he says in a near whisper. Steve lifts his head to look up at him and Bucky looks back down. “It’s...my turn is almost up,” he says by way of explanation, and Steve nods slightly, forcing himself away from Bucky and to stand up. It’s hard to do, like peeling old gum off of one of Bucky’s old dress shoes from where he stepped in it while dancing. He told Steve that Steve had _ways_ of dealing with things like that, but Steve always knew that Bucky was just teasing.

Bucky’s wing moves out of the way as Steve gets up, but brushes the feathers along Steve’s as he heads for the door.

Steve turns around when he gets to it, looking across the room at where Bucky’s still leaned back against the wall, watching him.

“I’m going to come back,” Steve warns firmly, but quiet.

Bucky huffs a breath, sitting up. “Yeah, I know,” he replies, rolling his eyes a little.

Steve cracks a small smile while the door slides open, glancing out into the hall before looking back. He doesn’t want to go.

Bucky smiles a little because he knows, smile turning into a smirk as he raises an eyebrow. “Go on now, Rogers. _Off to bed_ ,” he teases. But Steve can tell he doesn’t want him to go either.

Steve rolls his eyes but smiles a little further. “Goodnight, Buck,” he says quietly.

Bucky’s smirk turns back into something soft, starting to harden a little at the edges while the warmth in his eyes slowly shifts to something colder. But he manages to say, “‘Night, Stevie.”

Steve turns and exits the room before Bucky’s completely gone and James is back, making his way down the hall while the door slides shut, feeling lighter than he’s felt in a long time.


	7. You've been lonely for too long

“ _He’s waiting for you_ ,” Fury reports when Steve answers his cellphone on the way to one of the Triskelion’s training rooms, “ _And don’t think you don’t need to talk to Doctor Morrison about what you said last night_.”

Steve frowns and hangs up on his end when the line disconnects, sliding his phone back into his gym bag and swiftly changing direction to head towards Bucky’s cell instead. Doctor Morrison and his own issues can wait.

He drops his bag just outside the cell door before stepping into the room when it opens, eyes quickly finding Bucky, or James, who’s doing his daily exercises about six feet away.

Steve pauses for a moment to watch him while the door slides shut before walking over and taking a seat at the table, crossing his forearms on top of it and leaning on them while he turns his head to continue watching.

Bucky has built back up whatever muscle mass he lost over the first week, and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been feeding him steadily so he’s regained his strength. He’s dangerous again. Well, more dangerous.

Bucky, or James - Steve’s not sure which yet - does his last set of one armed push ups before standing up and flexing his right arm a few times, breathing slightly picked up and skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat under the lights. When he walks over to take the seat opposite Steve, he moves silently, but Steve still can’t tell if that means he’s Bucky or James right now, since Steve’s noticed that Bucky’s footsteps have also become silent.

He looks at Steve and Steve looks back and they’re both silent save for the quiet sound of their breathing. James then. Bucky would smile or say something, make some gesture. James never does.

“You’re different today,” James states quietly, like he has been, but it’s not a meek sort of quiet. It’s the kind of quiet that doesn’t need to be raised or lowered to be heard. That soldiers will silence _themselves_ to listen to instead of demand that he speak louder. Bucky had something like that about him, too, before and during the war, but it’s been fine tuned into something... _more_. Brought out in a way that makes it quietly dominating, nonignorable. Steve doesn’t want to let his mind wander to how that might have come to pass. Doesn’t want to step into that territory yet, even though he knows he’ll have to eventually.

“Am I?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow a little.

James studies him for a long moment, rotating his right shoulder a few times before resting it again as he speaks. “You seem... _lighter_.”

Steve sits up a little. “I _feel_ lighter.”

“Because of your _Bucky_ ,” James says, and it’s not a sneer, but it’s _something_. Steve’s not sure what, exactly, just that there’s a hint of it there.

“Yes,” Steve answers honestly.

“Disappointed that he’s not here,” James continues, eyes on him, and this time Steve can hear a slight bitterness to it, which is...strange.

“I don’t hate talking to you,” Steve says simply after a few moments. Because it’s true, and maybe, even though he hadn’t thought he would, James needs to hear that.

James is not Bucky, they act so different it’s jarring, but Steve _doesn’t_ hate talking to him. It’s just...He wants Bucky back. But if that means dealing with James, too, then so be it. Steve doesn’t really know him yet, but if this is how it’s going to be from now on then he’s going to have to. He won’t leave Bucky behind again, not for anything.

James’ wings give the smallest twitch, but other than that he doesn’t react. He stares at Steve, and while it still makes Steve uncomfortable, he does it often enough that Steve supposes he’s going to have to get used to it. But it’s one thing to get stared at by fans, by his therapist, by his friends, and by Bucky. It’s something else altogether to get stared at by... _James_. The way he looks at Steve, at _everyone_ , is piercing, like Bucky, but James doesn’t know Steve like Bucky does, and it’s almost like when Steve first met Bucky all over again, except James is... _different_. Harder. Stiffer. _Newer_ , in a way.

“My triggers have been removed,” James states quietly after a few moments, and Steve nods.

“Yes, they have,” he confirms.

“I am...The command is gone,” he says a little quieter, eyes dropping to the table.

Steve’s eyebrows pull together for a moment before his expression clears and he gets it, sitting up all the way. “They had an order for you to…” he trails off. He doesn’t want to say it, like maybe that will keep it from being real. It’s childish, but he’s not above it.

James looks at him. “Terminate,” he finishes for him. Steve’s expression pinches and James’ eyebrows pull together slightly at that. “This bothers you,” he states again.

“Yes, it does,” Steve answers, wings shifting a little uncomfortably at his back.

“Why?” James asks, and Steve stares because that might be the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard. James’ eyebrows pull together a little more before his expression clears and he says, “Bucky.”

Steve lets out a sigh, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead and close his eyes for a moment. For all that they share the same body, Steve’s starting to get that they really don’t like each other very much.

Steve looks back up to reply but pauses when he sees James’ eyes, wings stiffening a little at his back. James’ face is blank again, but there’s anger in his eyes, the fast and hot kind with little to no control.

James _has_ gradually become more expressive, as small as those expressions have been so far, but this is different. Steve had started to think that maybe he was just repressing his emotions, but...maybe it’s that he’s not...used to _having_ them. Used to having people around who _ignite_ them. Maybe he...

“You think no one cares about you?” Steve asks quietly, resting his hand back on the table.

James’ eyes widen fractionally before they dart quickly to the side, wings giving the smallest twitch at his back. Steve would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it.

James look back to him. “I am a weapon,” he states, eyes hard again, “I am _not_ a man. Weapons are not missed when they’ve outlived their usefulness.”

Steve’s lips pull down a little in a frown while his wings sag a little sadly at his back. James’ head lifts slightly, eyes roaming over Steve’s face and wings before going back to his face again, expression slightly confused at whatever he reads from Steve.

“Can weapons hate?” Steve asks quietly. James sits up a little straighter at that, eyes widening slightly. “Can weapons ask _questions?_ Can weapons _make choices?_ ” Steve continues, “Because _you **have** been_.”

James’ lips part slightly like he might answer but then he closes them again, eyes still a little wide when they drop to the table.

Steve leans forward, leaning down over the table enough to catch James’ gaze and slowly sitting back up when blue-gray eyes are on him. “You were a weapon,” Steve acknowledges, and he thinks it might be costing him a part of himself to do it, to admit that to himself, that Bucky was essentially erased to become a _thing_ , but he needs to so he pays the price and pushes down his own pain. It isn’t important right now. “But you don’t _have_ to be.”

James stares at him for a long moment before moving in a flash, suddenly crouched on top of the table in front of Steve with his right hand gripped around Steve’s throat, pushing Steve back against the back of his chair while bringing his face in close to Steve’s, eyes cold.

Steve’s wings flare in surprise at his back while James’ slowly spread out to hover over them both, blocking out the lights overhead. It’s familiar and unfamiliar, but Steve keeps himself still, looking up at him.

James’ eyes dart between each of Steve’s for a few moments before he says, quiet, “You are afraid of me.”

Steve swallows against the hand at his throat, keeping his eyes on James’. “Yes,” he answers truthfully, voice just as quiet.

“I could finish my mission now,” James says, quieter, “I _am_ a weapon.”

His hand tightens around Steve’s throat and Steve grits his teeth a little, struggling to take in a breath passed the grip constricting his airway.

“I don’t think you are,” Steve gets out, because he doesn’t just see cold hard ice anymore when he looks at James, especially not when he’s this close. It’s not like when he was at Kronas Corp., not completely. “Do you _want_ to?”

James pauses and lowers his head enough so that Steve can’t see his face, blocked out by his long bangs.

Steve waits a minute before saying quietly, “ _James_.”

James’ head lifts slightly at that, wings trembling faintly above them both before he raises his head up further, looking at Steve. And _there_. Steve can see _him_.

James loosens his grip on Steve’s neck but doesn’t let go, face still close and wings still raised. “You would use me,” he says, but Steve can tell he doesn’t really believe his own words, which says a lot.

They’re both quiet for a moment before James amends, “Your _S.H.I.E.L.D._ would use me.”

“ _I won’t let them_ ,” Steve says immediately, firmly, wings flaring out a little. James’ eyes dart to them briefly before going back to Steve’s face, mouth pressing into a temporarily firm line.

“What can _you_ do against _them?_ ” he asks, “You are but one man.”

Steve’s quiet for a moment before he says, eyes on his, “If you know _any_ of what Bucky knows, then you _know_ that’s not true.”

James shifts back slightly, eyes widening a little again as he searches Steve’s face, lips parting fractionally and wings flaring a little in surprise rather than domination.

He leans in close again, close enough for Steve to feel his breath on his face, eyes searching his, for what, Steve doesn’t know, before he pulls back, slowly releasing Steve’s throat and pulling his wings back in, shifting to sit cross legged in front of Steve on the table.

Steve reaches up to rub at his throat a little while looking up at him, pulling his own wings back in towards his back.

They stare at each other for a few minutes, just studying one another, and for maybe the first time James is really _looking_ at him. Not like a puzzle to be solved or a target to be eliminated, but like he’s a _person_. It’s the most expressive Steve’s ever seen him.

“ _Steve Rogers_ ,” James mostly mumbles, but Steve’s ears still pick it up anyway. Steve blinks and then James is moving back to sit back down in his chair, eyes on Steve the whole time.

They don’t say anything for the rest of Steve’s visit, but the silence isn’t as uncomfortable as it’s been.

\--

“Hey, neighbor.”

He looks up from where he’d been staring at the floor as he made his way up the stairs, offering her a smile to the one she’s giving him as he climbs the last few. She’s wearing jeans and a blouse instead of her scrubs. Off the clock then. “Hey, Kate.”

She takes one good look at him and Steve keeps himself still under her scrutiny.

It’s hard. He’s been stared at a lot today.

Her mouth flattens a little before she looks down at her purse, finger tapping the strap in thought before she looks back up at him with another, gentler smile. “I was just about to go get some coffee,” she starts, and Steve blinks, wings twitching slightly at his back, “‘Do you want to come?”

Steve glances to the side in thought. It’s been a long day.

“You don’t have to,” she says, drawing Steve’s eyes back to her, “I just thought maybe you could use a break. You look like you’ve had a difficult day.”

Steve huffs out a breath before nodding, giving another smile that she returns. “Yeah,” he decides, “Sure. That sounds nice.”

Kate’s honey-gold wings shuffle a little behind her before she heads for the stairs, Steve stepping aside to let her go first before following.

“You weren’t going to suggest Starbucks though, were you?” Steve asks on the way down, “They’re not exactly conducive to relaxing.”

Kate laughs, and it sounds pleasant compared to silence and wind.

“No,” she says, smiling back at him over her shoulder, “We’ll go some place quieter.”

Steve smiles back, wings relaxing a little.

\--

He waits in the control room a couple of days later, eyes on the monitor while Natasha talks with James.

Or, well, tries to. James hasn’t said a word throughout any of her questions, eyes off to the side and head turned away from her, refusal in every line of his wings and body. He’s always answered at least one of her questions before. This is new.

“ _Do you remember anything else that you can tell us?_ ” Natasha tries again, “ _About Lukin’s plans with Hydra? Or anything about your connection to Bucky?_ ”

But James is silent. Steve’s sure he’d have his arms crossed like a petulant child if he could. As it is, his hand is resting in a fist in his lap (muscles in his arm taut) and his head is still turned to the right, eyes on the wall and expression blank.

Natasha stands up, deciding she won’t be getting anything out of him today.

Just as she starts to turn for the door, James wings give a few small, jerky twitches, like he’s trying to suppress his emotions but they’re bleeding out through his wings, unable to keep them completely still, and she stops. He’s still not looking at her, is instead looking down at his lap now.

She makes to move again and stops when he speaks quietly. It’s so quiet _Steve_ almost doesn’t hear him.

“ _I remember you leaving_.”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together a little.

Natasha looks back at him again.

“ _I remember you leaving_ ,” James repeats a little louder, but still quiet, eyes still on his lap.

Natasha doesn’t move.

“ _Anything more?_ ” she asks, voice calm.

James grits his teeth and finally looks up, eyes full of his newfound anger.

He stands quickly from his chair, and it probably would’ve skid back if it weren’t bolted to the floor. “ _You left me there!_ ” he yells, wings arching up behind him, “ _You left me there, Natalia!_ ”

Clint goes still at his side and Steve glances over. His expression is blank. He must know what James is talking about, but Steve is lost. He looks back.

“ _Then you don’t remember everything, yet_ ,” Natasha says.

James lets out an angry breath, grunting when he drops back into his seat like a sullen child. “ _I remember enough_ ,” he says, head turned away again and eyes back on the wall.

She stays there for a moment more before exiting the room. Steve’s eyes dart back to Clint when he gets up and leaves the control room without a word. Steve looks back to the screen for a moment before getting up and heading for the door.

\--

She gets three halls away before Clint finds her, walking at her side with his arms crossed, sandy wings only slightly tense at his back. People underestimate how good he actually is at his job at first glance. It’s usually their downfall.

He follows her as she turns a few more halls before coming to a stop in one that’s empty at least three hallways in each direction, sees him shift slightly in her periphery after a few moments.

“Are you alright?” he asks quietly, and she lets out a near silent breath she didn’t quite realize she’d been holding, wings sagging just slightly at her back. It’s not much, but she’s still too open around him.

“I will be,” she replies just as quiet, waiting a few more moments before finally turning to look at him.

He’s not holding himself quite so casually anymore, his concern showing in the slightly harder lines of his face and the angles of his body, in his wings angled forward a little in her direction. He won’t do anything unless she’s comfortable with it, and she’s not right now.

She makes her lips quirk up, can tell he doesn’t buy it but keeps the smirk there anyway. “Going soft on me, Barton?” she asks, only half teasing.

He doesn’t say anything and her smirk slowly eases away, expression crumbling just a little, just enough.

He brushes the edge of his wing gently along hers and she closes her eyes, slowly brushing his back.

The silences she’s shared with Yasha- _James_ are different from the ones she shares with Clint, even now, when they’ve all changed. One is not better than the other, but she thinks this one better suits who she is _now_.

She opens her eyes and turns away to walk down the rest of the hall, mask back in place.

Clint turns to head back to the control room, hands loose at his sides.

\--

Steve visits him a few minutes after Natasha leaves, comes in quiet and concerned and guarded, and Bucky’s lips pull down a little. He’s not entirely sure what just happened, he never is when they transition, but James’ emotions are left like a bitter taste in his mouth, and they _are bitter_. Hurt, betrayal, anger. The anger might be the only thing he and _James_ have in common, aside from the obvious, and, well.

Bucky glances up at Steve, raises his hand and waves his fingers. It gets Steve to smile, so it has the intended effect.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve says, coming over to sit across from him at the table.

“Hey, Steve,” he replies, smiling a little. “I take it the last session didn’t go so well,” he says after a moment, thumbnail idly scratching against his index finger’s.

Steve’s lips twist a little before he smiles one of the smiles that means he’s not sure what else to do. “No, not really.”

“The red woman?” he asks, “Natasha?”

Steve sits up a little straighter. “You know her name?”

Bucky slouches in his seat a little, smirking. “Of course I know her name. She’s one of the few things I’ve seen in my head from _him_. And she stands out. Wish she’d come visit me for a change.”

Steve rolls his eyes, another desired effect. It helps Bucky push away the anger still left over and simmering under his skin.

“I’ll be sure to let her know you’d like an _audience_ ,” Steve says a little sarcastically. It’s good to hear it again.

Bucky grins a little. “Oh please do,” he says, waggling his eyebrows a little.

Steve laughs quietly and Bucky’s smile starts to feel a little more real.

“So,” he says after a minute, “Didn’t go well.”

Steve shakes his head a little. “No. And I’m not sure if I should say. It was James’ conversation.”

Bucky’s eyebrows jump up. “So you’re not gonna tell me.”

Steve frowns a little, eyes dropping to the table. “I don’t...I don’t think I should,” he says, looking back up at Bucky, expression going a little apologetic, “I know you’re in the same body, Buck, but if this is how it’s going to be then I have to treat you two like your own _people_.”

Bucky’s eyes trail to the side, mouth twisting a little bitterly. Their own ‘people’, huh.

“I wouldn’t exactly call either of us _people_ ,” he says quietly.

“Bucky,” Steve says, voice quiet but firm. He looks back up. Steve’s wings have spread a little defensively and he’s frowning. Bucky sighs.

“Well, we’re not, exactly,” Bucky says quietly, gesturing at his left arm, the room, and his head with a hand. Steve’s frown gets deeper.

“You _are_ , Buck,” Steve says firmly, “Both you _and_ James. Regardless of the situation. You’re both too... _yourselves_ to be anything _but_.”

Bucky scoffs quietly, leaning back against his chair and looking off to the side again. “I’ve seen some of the things he remembers doing as _The Winter Soldier_ , what _we_ did,” Bucky says, looking back to him, “We’re not _really_ people, Steve.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment before closing his eyes briefly then looking down at the table, letting out a small sigh. “I don’t know all of what was done,” Steve starts quietly, “I don’t know all of what was done to you, _either_ of you, what you did, but I know that’s not _all_ you are.” He looks back up, and Bucky has to force himself to look back, because there’s so much conviction there, _knowing_ \- Caring. It hurts to see it all aimed at him, especially knowing what he knows. “Even if a ‘ _weapon_ ’ is all either of you think of yourselves, it’s not the _only_ thing. You _are_ people, too. Just like me," Steve finishes.

Bucky’s face pinches a little. “Steve-”

“No,” Steve cuts him off, shaking his head a little and looking back down at the table, “I know it, Buck. I’ve known it for a while.”

Bucky shakes his own head, sitting back up and leaning forward a bit, wings shifting towards Steve a little. Steve looks back up. “You’re not a weapon, Steve, _you’re not_ ,” he says more firmly on the end when Steve looks at him doubtfully, “You’re so much more than a weapon. You always have been. Even if the people you’re working with make you feel like one. Which _damn them for that_ ,” he finishes in a slight growl, holding back his surprise. That’s not just _him_ talking, and it feels _strange_. Like two pictures overlayed.

And why would _James_ care about that?

He forces the thoughts aside, looking at Steve. “You’re something good, Steve, _great_ ,” he continues a little quieter, “Even if I can’t remember everything, I think I’ve always known that.”

Steve blinks a few times, eyes a little shiny under the lights before he angles his head down a little, wings curving around his sides slightly.

Not for the first time, Bucky wants to hide him away, keep Steve from the world. Because Steve _is_ great, something important, and Bucky remembers both being glad and _dreading_ the world finally realizing that. The world is a cruel place, he knew that, he _knows_ that, and he doesn’t want it to chew Steve up and spit him out like it did him.

He gets up after a moment. Steve looks up as he comes around the table, offering a hand. “Come on,” he says, “The cot’s not much better than these chairs, but it _is_ better,” he half jokes.

Steve smiles a little and takes his hand, letting Bucky pull him up before they let go of each other and walk over to the cot, taking a seat against the wall side by side. It almost feels like 1940 again.

Steve leans into his right side and Bucky leans back, wings pressed tight between their backs and the wall and each other.

“I had coffee with my neighbor yesterday,” Steve says quietly, out of the blue.

Bucky lifts his left leg to prop his foot on the cot, knee up. “Yeah?” he asks, “I’m assumin’ this neighbor is a _she?_ ”

Steve hums a little in agreement. Something clenches in Bucky a little. He’s not sure what it is, but he knows he doesn’t like it.

“She treat you right?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah. She did, Buck,” Steve replies just as quiet.

Bucky almost wishes he’d said _no_.

He takes a quiet breath and keeps his hand from forming a fist. In _that_ , his feelings don’t matter.

It feels familiar.

\--

Steve blinks his eyes open some time later. He’s not sure when he fell asleep, or how long he’s been out, but he feels... _good_. He hasn’t slept that well since...probably since before the war, even if sleeping slouched against a shoulder isn’t exactly _comfortable_.

He yawns and stretches his right wing out, feathers trembling briefly with the strain before pulling it back in and looking up. He freezes.

Cold eyes stare back. It’s not Bucky anymore.

Steve pulls himself up sharply, scooting over on the cot a little so he’s not pressed up so close. He sees James shift his right wing forward between them to stretch it out in his periphery where it’d been trapped between them, pulling it back in while rotating his right shoulder. Steve twitches his own right wing.

“You didn’t have to let me sleep,” Steve says, face a little warm.

“You looked peaceful,” is all James says, shifting a little to get as close to comfortable as he ever does against the cement wall behind them both.

Steve looks over, eyebrows rising slightly.

James turns his head to look back, angling his head just slightly in what Steve’s guessing is a question.

Steve shakes his head, looking forward again. He’s not sure what to say to that.

“Do you know how long I’ve been out?” Steve finally settles on asking a few moments later.

“Not definitively,” James replies quietly, “I’ve been aware for an hour.”

Steve’s wings pull in a little closer to his sides, cheeks hot. He’s been sleeping on James for an _hour_.

_Way to go Rogers, sleeping on your best friend’s second, assassin personality. It’s not like you went to school or nothing. Not like you’ve fought in more battles than you can count and damn well **know better**._

He feels the ends of some of James’ feathers brush his when he shifts slightly. “You are embarrassed,” he hears James state quietly.

Steve ducks his head a little. “Sorry,” he half mumbles, wings pulling in a little tighter.

“I was not going to kill you,” James replies. Steve’s head snaps up to look at him.

James looks steadily back, lips twitching just slightly. Steve’s pretty sure he’s joking. Mostly.

Steve blinks, scrambling for something to say. “Thanks?” he tries, wincing slightly. _Really, Rogers?_

James nods once before looking back across the room.

Well then.

“I should probably go,” Steve says after a few more minutes of awkward silence. At least for him. James doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, but then, he almost never does.

James’ eyes draw back to him, nodding again.

Steve rises from the cot and walks over to the door, pausing at it for a moment and looking back. “You heard, right? At least some of it.”

James stares at him, and Steve would almost swear his eyes are...not exactly _warmer_ , but not as cold, either. “Goodnight, Steve Rogers,” James says instead of answering.

Steve blinks while the door slides open. “Uh. Goodnight. James,” he half stumbles in reply, caught off guard again, stepping out into the hall.

James watches him while the door slides shut.


	8. Just one beat of your heart

 "Steve."

Steve stares down into his coffee cup, lost in the black of it. They have all this cream and sugar now, but he still can’t bring himself to like the taste. Too used to the bitterness, he guesses. He used to like it at one point, before the war, used to save up for two weeks to buy sugar for it, but going without it during the war for so long...changed things. He wonders if Bucky still likes it, or if he’s like Steve. Wonders if James does, _too_ -

“ _Steve_.”

He blinks and looks up, blushing a little when he realizes he hasn’t been paying attention. “Sorry, Kate,” he says quickly, gripping the coffee cup a little tighter.

“Got lost for a bit there?” she asks, bringing her own cup up to take a sip to try to hide her smile. She’s mostly successful, but Steve still sees it.

He ducks his head a little, bringing his cup up to take a sip. It’s not as hot as it was when he took his last one. “Sorry,” he says again, sending her an apologetic look, “I was just thinking.”

“About?” she asks, lips quirked up and honey colored wings relaxed at her back.

Steve glances around the shop, at the few other customers sitting quietly with their own drinks, one with a book and two with laptops. He glances out the floor to ceiling windows on his right at the other end of the shop, the people passing by, talking on their cellphones, children holding hands and hopping in front of their parents in breathless excitement. He looks back to Kate.

“Just…” he trails off, staring back at her looking at him. Steve bites the inside of his lip, making a decision. She knows who he is. He could...be a little more forthcoming. A little. “The last time I had coffee before waking up in 2014 was during the war,” he starts quietly. She sits up a little straighter, but nods gently for him to go on, if he wants. Steve smiles a little, briefly. “It was this bitter sludge that one of the guys, the Commandos, made over a campfire. It was terrible,” he says, cracking a smile.

Kate smiles back, taking another sip of her coffee while she listens.

Steve looks back down into his own. “But it was...We couldn’t get sugar, even before I joined in the war. It was expensive and I never really had enough,” he says, looking back up at the shop, then back to her, “I got used to not having it. Now it’s practically a staple in every house. One of the easier things to get. It’s hard. Adjusting to that. To everything.”

Kate looks down into her own coffee for a few moments, expression pensive before she looks back up. “I’m sure a lot of things have changed,” she says. Steve doesn’t nod, but he’s sure she can tell he agrees. “And I’m sure a lot of this is going to be strange for a while. But I don’t think you need to adjust right away. It’s a lot to take in, for _anyone_ not used to it. You don’t need to be impenetrable all the time. I don’t think anyone could be.”

Steve glances down at his coffee again, thinking over her words. He looks back up after a minute. “I do like the internet,” he says, turning the topic back to something lighter with a smile, wings shifting a little playfully behind him, “It’s pretty helpful.”

Kate smirks a little but it’s mostly a smile, letting the previous topic go. “Be careful with that,” she warns playfully, “Don’t trust _everything_ you read on there.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Steve replies, smirking a little himself, “I’m pretty sure that ad about me winning a trip to see Tony was a lie. But knowing him, it’s hard to tell.”

Kate laughs quietly and they both take another sip of their coffees.

\--

When Steve walks in, Bucky is…At least he’s pretty sure it’s Bucky.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve starts, testing. The door closes behind him.

“Yeah, Steve?”

Well that answers that.

“What are you doing?”

Bucky frowns where he’s standing next to the table, eyes on his wings extended all the way out, shaking them in jerky motions. “I’m tryin’ to dislodge the loose feathers.”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together, frowning slightly while watching said loose feathers flutter to the floor. There’s a fair amount there already. He looks back up to Bucky. “Why don’t you just groom them?”

Bucky’s wings pause for a moment before they start up again, Bucky’s eyes staying on them. “Can’t,” he grunts out quietly.

“Why not?” Steve asks, taking a few steps closer.

Bucky’s wings jerk back slightly when he does and Steve stops, glancing at them before looking back to Bucky’s face.

“ _Just can’t_ ,” Bucky says a little louder, but still quiet, making a frustrated sound in the back of his throat before beating his wings hard once and sending the feathers on the floor _whooshing_ up into Steve’s face.

Steve shuts his eyes quickly, face scrunching up at the onslaught. He opens his eyes after a moment to find Bucky biting his lips closed, shaking slightly with silent laughter and lips curving up despite his efforts to keep them from doing it.

Steve’s expression goes unimpressed before he starts feeling around in his hair with a hand, pulling out a feather and looking at it. “Do you want me to…?” Steve trails off, looking from the feather to Bucky.

Bucky stands a little straighter and pulls his wings in, shaking his head. Steve nods once and looks back at the feather between his fingers, ignoring the sting of it. It wasn’t exactly _conventional_ , but they used to take care of each other...more.

Bucky comes around a moment later, stopping in front of Steve. His hand reaching up into Steve’s hair snaps Steve out of his thoughts, blinking to focus on Bucky, who pulls his hand down, a feather between his fingers. He blows it off of his palm and to the side, smirking over at Steve after.

Steve glances at where it falls before looking back to the one between his fingers. He walks around Bucky to set it gently on the table, ruffling his hair with a hand to clear the others before turning around to face Bucky after. “Do you want to come fly with me?” he asks.

Bucky’s eyes widen for a moment before he raises a skeptical eyebrow. “I _doubt_ they’re going to let me out of the building,” he replies sarcastically.

Steve raises his eyebrows a little, expression blank. “Fury,” he says to the room, “Can you clear Training Room One?” It’s a little bit of a stretch, Steve’ll admit ( _not to Bucky_ ), but Bucky’s been locked up in this room for _weeks_. He needs to get out and actually _use_ his wings, and it’s probably safe now to at least let him do _that_.

They both wait silently for a minute, Bucky smirking a little bitterly when nothing happens. “See? I _told_ you-”

The door behind him slides open and Bucky’s eyes widen as he spins around. Steve comes up next to him and Bucky shifts his gaze to him, eyes still a little wide.

Steve smirks over at him before walking out of the room, poking his head back in when he notices Bucky hasn’t followed.

“You coming or not?” Steve asks, eyebrow raised while trying to keep the smile off of his face.

Bucky blinks at him before standing up a little straighter and following, keeping whatever tension he might feel out of his posture and his steps silent. “It feels like I’ve been in here for _forever_ ,” he says, crossing from the room into the hall and following Steve, eyes quickly scanning over the heavily armed guards watching them both, “Sue me if I felt like I’d never get out.”

Steve glances over to where Bucky’s walking at his right, a small frown pulling down at his mouth. “I’d never do that to you, Buck,” Steve says quietly, half of the armed guards walking in front of them and the other half behind.

Bucky looks at him for a moment, eyes softening. His left wing brushes the edge of Steve’s and Steve smiles a little, brushing Bucky’s back. “I know, Steve,” he says quietly, smiling a little.

\--

Training Room One _is_ cleared out when they get to it. The room itself is at least eighty feet around and thirty feet high, enough room to fly. It’s one of three, so Steve doesn’t feel too bad about being responsible for it being empty.

It’s not the same as flying outside, and Steve wishes he and Bucky could do it that way instead, but for now this will have to do.

The guards fan out along the perimeter and all exits and entrances, leaving Steve and Bucky mostly on their own in the vast expanse.

Steve glances over to see Bucky taking in the room, eyes roaming and scanning over everything, so Steve takes a few running steps forward before spreading his wings out and pushing himself up into the air, grinning a little when he hears Bucky let out a surprised sound at the sudden _whoosh_ of air in his face.

Steve hears Bucky take flight after him seconds later, and then lets out his own surprised sound when Bucky flies past him, flapping the end of his right wing into Steve’s left like they did when they were kids into their young adult years, taking off ahead of Steve with a grin, loose feathers flying into Steve’s face.

Steve shakes his head to dislodge the feathers then grins, chasing after him.

\--

They play ‘tag’ a few more times. James still doesn’t talk much when Steve visits and he’s there or shows up later, but in comparison to his talks with Natasha he practically speaks whole _paragraphs_ to Steve. He’s stopped talking to her after his initial refusal, but sometimes he asks Steve questions about some of his memories, some Steve can answer and some Steve can’t because they aren’t about _Steve and Bucky’s_ shared history, they’re about _The Winter Soldier’s_ and sometimes _Natasha_. But James won’t ask her.

When they don’t talk, their silences are no longer as uncomfortable or tense. Sometimes James even lets Steve sit with him on the cot.

Bucky’s taking it well, but he still doesn’t like Steve talking to James. His feathers bunched up the few times they talked about it (for all of two minutes before Bucky went angry and silent and Steve dropped it), but other times they talk about anything and nothing, just like they used to.

Bucky asks Steve about memories, sometimes, seems to have picked up a few more since Steve was first able to talk to him again, but for the most part Bucky’s said they’re like blurry pictures and underwater-muffled sounds. He can’t make them out or they just aren’t there at all.

Steve tries not to let it bother him, to just be glad that Bucky’s even here. Most of the time it works.

\--

They’re playing tag again. Fury’s let Steve take Bucky out of the cell a few times now to fly, knows Bucky needs it even if Fury doesn’t _like_ it.

Steve beats his wings a few times in quick succession to speed up, tagging Bucky’s wing with his own when he passes before swinging his feet up to kick off of the wall and quickly push himself off in the other direction, narrowly avoiding hitting Bucky on the way by. Steve catches a glimpse of his face though and his grin falters, letting himself coast through the air instead of speeding away.

He’s not surprised when James catches up, but he _is_ surprised when a wing knocks into his right one and James beats his own to shoot ahead, leaving Steve staring dumbly after him. James has never appeared during tag before, and Steve could’ve sworn he saw his lips twitch up.

Steve catches up after a moment, just about to tag him back before James turns to spiral down towards the floor and Steve follows, landing and pushing themselves up off of the ground, Steve in quick succession after him, only half a second behind. Even their flying styles are different.

Bucky flies like a bit like he dances, all twists and curves.

James flies like a zigzagging bullet, all sharp and angled.

Steve finally catches up enough to snag James’ foot with a hand and it knocks James off balance enough to send them both angling down into a wall, tumbling and landing on the floor in a couple of _thuds_.

James pushes himself up off of the floor enough to look over at where Steve’s lying on his back.

Steve looks back over at him, takes one look at his messy hair, the few feathers stuck in it, his bangs in his face, and bursts out laughing, hands coming to his stomach with the strength of it.

After a minute, he hears James let out a huff and looks over again with laughter tears in his eyes to see James’ lips have twitched up again. So Steve wasn’t imagining it.

Steve laughs again and takes a few minutes to get himself under control, grinning over at James before pushing himself to sit up, ignoring the guards behind him watching them from six feet away. It’s gotten easier.

Steve lets out a long breath, lips still pulled up. “I haven’t laughed like _that_ in a long time.” And it felt _good_.

James pushes himself up to sit up next to him, facing the guards, bangs still in his face and a few feathers still lodged in his hair. He doesn’t say anything, but when Steve looks over he’s still got that tiny smile on his face.

Steve reaches over after a moment, making sure to move slow so that James knows he’s not going to attack him, before reaching up and pulling a feather free. James tenses before relaxing again when Steve pulls a little away, eyes landing on the feather between Steve’s fingers before looking at him.

“You’ve got a few of them in there,” Steve teases with a small grin.

James blinks before reaching up, hand sifting lightly over his hair before finding and pulling out the last two feathers, bringing them forward to look at them.

Steve gently blows the feather off of his palm like Bucky had before, feeling James’ eyes on him for a moment before he looks over to find him watching the feather trail down to the floor.

James looks back at the two he’s holding before shifting them to his palm and blowing them off almost experimentally, eyes tracking their descent as well.

He looks back over at Steve and Steve smiles, pushing himself up off of the floor after a moment before offering a hand down to James, who looks at it for another moment before reaching up, slowly, and taking Steve’s hand, carefully at first before gripping it more firmly, and Steve pulls him up.

Steve studies him for a moment, James looking back, body slowly stiffening the longer Steve stares before Steve nods his head up towards the ceiling. “Want to go again?” he asks, grinning a little.

James blinks, body freezing for a moment before he’s suddenly pushing himself up into the air, sending a gust into Steve’s face with the strong beat of his wings.

Steve follows a second later, smiling to himself when he moves up to fly alongside James and James doesn’t pull away.

James’ body is also more relaxed, and Steve catches sight of his lips twitching up again just slightly when he tags Steve's wing and races ahead. Steve chases him around the room.

\--

“Sir,” Steve stays, standing at attention in front of Fury’s desk, “I’d like to take Bucky and James home.”

Fury raises an eyebrow, hands steepled in front of him. “He’s not a stray cat, Rogers.”

“No,” Steve agrees, eyes on him, “He’s not.”

Fury’s eye narrows briefly before he leans forward. “If I agree to this, he comes in for triweekly tests and therapy sessions.” Steve’s lips thin a little but he nods and waits, silent, like a soldier. “And he needs to be tested for violent triggers before I clear anything. I don’t want him snapping at a mailman or some poor kid on the street.”

Steve nods again, standing tall in front of the desk. “Today?”

“Tomorrow,” Fury answers, leaning back in his chair, “It’s Friday. We’ll take a day. Break the news to him when you go see him after you leave here. I’ll send an agent down to explain the conditions and we’ll test him first thing tomorrow morning.”

Steve nods one more time before turning to leave, pausing before turning back. “Thank you,” he says, meaning it.

Fury nods once and Steve leaves his office, heading for the elevator to take it down to Bucky’s floor. His eyes wander over the parts of the Triskelion he can see outside, the expanse of it, like a fortress. He supposes it is one, and he’ll be glad to get Bucky out of it. It’s a safe place, but it’s not a home, not the kind Steve thinks they both might need, whether they want to admit it or not.

The elevator doors slide open and Steve steps out, passing a strike team conversing on the way.

He heads down to Bucky’s cell in the more restricted part of the building, past doors and halls and more doors. It’s not that the cell is unknown, but the cells in this part of the building are for high security detainees, each with their own levels of restricted access.

The door slides open and Steve steps inside, Bucky’s face lighting up in the middle of his exercises when he does. So it _is_ Bucky right now.

Bucky finishes up with some sort of twist-kick-wing-slash combo, panting lightly when he turns to Steve with a grin, coming over to him. “Not bad, huh?”

“What was it?” Steve asks, unable to help himself from smiling back.

Bucky gives a shrug, pushing his bangs back a bit with a hand. “No idea, but it’s kind of fun,” he says easily.

Steve smiles before the door slides open and he turns, both looking towards it. Steve’s wings flare a little in surprise at the visitor, and he catches sight of Bucky stiffening out of the corner of his eye.

“Agent Coulson,” Steve says, surprise in his tone. He supposes that makes sense, for Fury to send him, he just wasn’t expecting someone to show up so quickly.

“Steve,” Coulson returns, stepping fully into the room, door shutting behind him. Coulson nods at Bucky, “Mr. Barnes.” He’s got that gleam in his eye Steve recognizes mostly from when he’s around Coulson in his Captain America uniform. Maybe Steve should’ve warned Bucky about that.

Bucky nods once, still stiff, and Steve nudges him gently with a wing. “He’s not here for anything bad,” Steve tells him, looking back to Coulson, “Right?”

“Not at all,” Coulson says, staying where he is, “I know you haven’t told him yet, I was close by when Fury called. Would you like to?”

“Tell me what?” Bucky says, looking to Steve, voice a little tense.

Steve looks back at him. “I asked Fury if you could come stay with me at my place,” Steve answers. Bucky’s eyes widen a little. “There’s a couple conditions, but if everything goes alright, you’ll be out of here by tomorrow.”

Bucky’s eyes dart between Steve and Coulson once before settling on Coulson. “I assume you’re here to explain these ‘conditions’,” he says, posture and voice still a little rigid.

Coulson nods once, gesturing towards the table before walking over to it. Bucky watches him for a moment, glancing at Steve before walking over and taking the seat opposite him, wings still stiff at his back.

Steve glances around before deciding to come a little closer and stand near Bucky, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bucky doesn’t look at him, but his left wing twitches a little in Steve’s direction. If Coulson notices (and he most likely has), he doesn’t say anything.

“Now,” Coulson starts. Bucky sits up a little straighter. “The conditions are that you come back to the Triskelion three times a week, to talk with one of our therapists, or have your sessions through a Skype chat, just to check in and see how you’re doing, and adjusting.”

Bucky nods once in agreement, still tensed in his seat, clearly waiting for something he’s not going to like.

“The second condition is that, tomorrow, we test you for any violent trigger reactions,” Coulson continues.

Bucky stills for a moment before letting out a quiet breath. “To see if I’ll react violently around anyone outside of the building,” he concludes, and Coulson nods.

“Yes,” Coulson confirms, expression serious, “We don’t want anyone getting hurt unnecessarily.” He smiles a little apologetically, but his expression is still firm.

Bucky nods almost immediately, right arm resting in his lap. “I understand,” he says. Steve looks down at him. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt, either.” He glances up at Steve and Steve’s expression softens a little, smiling at him faintly. Bucky returns it and they both look back at Coulson when he clears his throat.

“Excellent,” Coulson says, standing up, “I will be back to escort you to Training Room One tomorrow morning for the test.” He walks to the door and turns back for a moment to smile politely (if with his brand of restrained excitement) at them again. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Barnes.”

“Likewise,” Bucky replies with a wave of his right hand, and then Coulson’s gone and they’re, technically, alone again.

They both stay where they are. Bucky drops his hand back into his lap.

“White, huh?” Bucky asks quietly after a minute. Steve lets out a quiet breath, expecting it.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, “Just him in the whole building.” He doesn’t say aside from Bucky, because then he’d have to add himself, and that’s not true.

“Hm,” Bucky says quietly, bringing his hand up to rest against the edge of the table, fingers tapping a quiet beat on the cool surface. “They trust _James_ enough to let us out of here?” Bucky asks next a little quieter, “They trust _me?_ ”

Steve looks down at him. “He’s not so bad,” he says quietly.

Bucky’s fingers stop and he looks up at Steve after another moment, expression mostly blank. It’s a little terrifying, how similar they can be.

“You think so?” Bucky asks, still quiet, expression unreadable save for the... _something_ Steve can’t quite make out in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Steve says, smiling a little, “We played tag.”

Bucky frowns a little before looking back down at the table, fingers tapping another beat. “Hm,” he says mostly to himself, wings still at his back.

They’re quiet for a few moments before Bucky says, lower, “I don’t really think they trust either of us. They can’t. They’ll put a collar on me.”

Steve frowns, stepping closer. “They won’t,” he insists quietly, but Bucky doesn’t look up at him.

“Buck,” he says, kneeling down next to him, which finally draws Bucky's eyes to him, “They _won’t_.”

Bucky looks at him for a moment, lips twisting a little bitterly, but he doesn’t say anything and something in Steve’s chest tightens.

\--

Steve stands with Fury, Natasha, Clint, and Coulson off to the side while Bucky stands in the center of the training room, eyes quickly scanning over his guards who are scattered throughout the room doing various, casual activities, dressed and acting as civilians for the test.

Some of the agents are talking, some are exercising, some are flying in pairs or groups overhead.

Bucky starts walking around the room after he’s taken everything in, completing one circuit of it before taking to the air. Steve can tell he’s a little twitchy when there’s sudden movements from the agents, but for the most part he’s doing well.

Halfway through Bucky’s third rotation of the room, one of the agents pulls out a gun and aims at Steve, firing.

Steve’s wings flare out in surprise and he moves less than a split second later to dodge, but Bucky’s already dropping down in front of him, left arm deflecting the bullet before he takes off after the agent, taking him down quickly and efficiently, and _hard_.

Steve sends a look towards Fury, who’s calm and collected (part of the test then) before calling out to Bucky, running a short ways before pushing up and flying the rest of the way across the room to get there faster, half worried that Bucky’s killed the man and half worried, selfishly, that that’ll keep him locked up in here.

Bucky turns around from where he’s standing over the man, all of the other agents frozen in the room, weapons in hand, waiting and on edge. But when Bucky turns around, his expression is blank-hard and his eyes are angry.

“James,” Steve says, landing next to him.

James looks at him, eyes scanning over him quickly before sending that angry look over Steve’s shoulder.

Steve half turns to see where he’s looking after scanning over the agent, eyes, unsurprisingly, landing on Fury, whose eye narrows slightly before he looks over to Natasha.

Natasha looks back before looking over at James, expression just as blank but also calculating in the way Steve’s become familiar with since she started sitting with him in the cafeteria.

She looks back to Fury after a moment and Fury looks back to them, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t say a word.

“He’s alive,” Steve announces into the tense silence, drawing all eyes to him but James’ and Natasha’s, who are now looking at each other in some sort of eye-locked standoff. Steve holds in a sigh. “I’m not sure of his injuries, but he’s breathing,” he continues.

Fury stares at him for a long minute before his gaze shifts to James, who looks back after a moment.

“Why didn’t you kill him,” Fury demands, wings as still and unmoving at his back as they always are. Unreadable.

“You would not let me leave otherwise,” James answers bluntly, and Steve winces internally, part of him wilting at the answer. Because he thought...Maybe-

James’ eyes dart over to him briefly before he looks back to Fury. “And...Steve would not like it,” he adds, quieter.

Steve’s not sure if he means it, if he can trust the slight pinching at the corners of James’ mouth, but that part that wilted blooms again regardless. Steve looks back over at Fury.

Fury stares James down for a long minute before finally signalling to a few of the agents in the training room to collect their unconscious comrade, then gesturing for Steve and James to come forward.

James starts walking and Steve moves to follow a second later, trying to suppress a smile when James decides to walk the whole way.

They both come to a stop five feet in front of an unimpressed Fury, Clint smirking on Fury’s right and Natasha watching James at Fury’s left. Coulson smiles politely at him when Steve looks over to where he’s at a little ways behind Clint.

Fury reaches into his pocket. James doesn’t tense (which Steve chooses to take as a good sign), and Fury pulls out a black cellphone, dialing in a number before bringing it to his ear. “I need you up in Cell Block B in ten minutes,” Fury says before hanging up and putting it away, and Steve barely keeps his expression from going confused.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Fury starts, “You pass.” Steve lets out a silent breath, but James keeps himself still, as always, next to him. “We’re going back to your cell to reinstate your arm,” Fury continues, turning with Clint, Natasha, and Coulson towards the door, “Skype or in person therapy sessions?”

\--

Steve steers them away from the Triskelion in the moonlight, gradually winding them onto city streets ten minutes later, both wearing full-face motorcycle helmets. Mostly to keep Bucky from being recognized, and Steve wearing one so they don’t look weird with just one of them doing it. Bucky squeezes with both arms around his middle a little and Steve smiles.

He pulls up to his apartment building twenty minutes later, slowing to a stop next to the curb and killing the engine, kicking out the stand. He waits for Bucky to get off before following suit and Bucky stays close, mostly blocking Steve’s shield from the street view.

Steve takes his helmet off once they’re inside the building, Bucky only doing so after they’ve climbed all the stairs and gotten inside Steve’s dark apartment, fortunately not running into anyone at the late hour.

Steve watches Bucky’s eyes dart around and take in the space, slowly pulling off the boots S.H.I.E.L.D. gave him when Steve does and following Steve when he heads over to the table to drop off his keys and motorcycle helmet. Steve pulls his jacket off and pauses, deciding to hold onto it instead of dropping it on the table like he usually does.

He folds it over his arm and looks back at Bucky, who’s still holding onto his helmet and wearing a pair of standard, black S.H.I.E.L.D. issue pants, tshirt, and jacket. He looks back at Steve.

“I remember being here,” he says, and Steve nods. “I remember-” Bucky cuts off, glancing around the room again before his eyes settle on a spot off to the side of the tv. His expression goes pinched and he looks back at Steve. “It wasn’t safe for you to turn your back on me, either,” Bucky finally says, quiet.

Steve looks at him for a few moments before nodding towards the hall. “Come on,” he says, “Guest room’s this way. I don’t think you saw it the last time you were here,” he tries joking, turning to head down the hall.

Bucky doesn’t laugh, but he does make enough noise while walking a moment later to let Steve know he’s following, huffing out a quiet, slightly irritated breath at Steve’s turned back.

“ _Still not safe_ ,” Steve hears him grumble, but, true or not, he can’t help but smile that someone else’s voice is filling the silence along with his own. That someone else’s heartbeat also echoes in his ears when he walks down the hall.


	9. I never meant for this to mean a thing

Steve wakes up early the next morning, room not quite yet covered in early morning sunlight. He stares across at his pillow for a moment before his eyes widen and he jumps out of bed, flinging his door open and darting across the hall to Bucky’s open door, freezing when he looks into the room and finds it empty.

He runs down the hall and all but skids to a stop just inside the main room, eyes almost immediately landing on where Bucky’s sitting on the couch, fiddling with the tv remote, tv on some sort of animal channel. Bucky’s head snaps around when Steve comes blustering in, blinking at him a little wide-eyed for a moment before he snorts, smirking a little edgily. “Nice look there, _Rogers_ ,” he says sarcastically.

Steve blinks for a moment before glancing up and reaching up, one hand going to his hair and the other to his face, feeling the pillow creases on his right cheek and the right side of his hair all smashed with the left side sticking up. Bucky grins and Steve drops his hands with a relieved sigh, unable to keep his lips from twitching up. “Shut up, _Barnes_ ,” Steve snipes back, coming over around the couch to take a careful seat next to him. “What are you doing?”

Bucky’s grin vanishes into a scowl that he aims down at the remote, holding it up with a grimace and looking back at Steve. “I can take apart all sorts of weapons, but this thing is a _menace_ ,” he says vehemently.

Steve’s lips twitch and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling. “What are you trying to do?” Steve asks, glancing at the tv that's playing some documentary on Meerkats.

Bucky looks at him with a straight face as he says, serious, “Pay the pay-per-view channel for porn.”

Steve snorts out a laugh, bending over a little with it. “Bucky-” he starts.

“Just imagine the looks on Coulson and Fury’s faces, Stevie,” Bucky says, sounding a little malicious. Steve looks up. “ _Captain America_ , spending money on _porn_ ,” Bucky says, smirking.

Steve rolls his eyes, getting up off of the couch to go make some coffee.

“Steve!” Bucky calls over the back of the couch, “I need to do this! _It’s important! More important than that time I asked Lucy Markins out for a date!_ ”

Steve laughs, shaking his head, grinning. Bucky remembered something new. He’s never told Steve that one before today.

He pauses halfway to the kitchen when something Bucky said hits him and turns around. “Wait,” he says, and Bucky turns around to kneel on the couch and face him, “What do you mean _Coulson and Fury?_ How would they know what I spend my money on?”

Bucky’s expression goes serious and he nods his chin towards the table. Steve looks and freezes.

He takes a moment before walking over to it, reaching down to pick up one of the many small, black devices, bringing it up to get a closer look.

“They bugged your apartment,” Bucky says, drawing Steve’s eyes to him. He looks angry.

Steve looks back to the bug between his fingers, jaw clenching.

“I haven’t checked your bedroom,” Bucky says a little quieter. Steve’s fingers involuntarily squeeze and the bug breaks.

Steve drops the pieces on the table and turns around to stalk to his bedroom, hearing Bucky follow, but he stops at the doorway while Steve continues on inside, eyes darting around before he goes over to his dresser, pulling open drawers and rifling through his clothes, tossing them onto the floor. Bucky waits where he is and Steve feels his eyes on his back.

He finds two in the dresser and moves over to the nightstand, finding another. By the end of it he’s got five: one more from the bathroom, and another from the top, far corner of the room, painted to blend in with the walls.

Steve stands in the middle of his room, clothes strewn out around him and all of his drawers pulled open, wings twitching angrily at his back. When he looks up, Bucky’s still standing by the door frame, a frown on his face that Steve can’t completely parse and wings twitching slightly at his back.

Steve walks over, stopping in front of him and holding his hand out for Bucky to inspect. “Are they new?” he asks, voice a little strained with his anger.

Bucky looks at him for a moment before dropping his eyes to Steve’s hand, picking up one of the bugs to look it over before placing it back in Steve’s palm, looking up and shaking his head.

Steve’s jaw clenches again and he turns around to find his jacket, spotting it before walking over and rifling through the pockets briefly, pulling his cellphone out and walking out of the room while he dials. Bucky steps aside to let him through and follows him back down the hall.

Steve drops the bugs on top of the table with the others while the line picks up on the other end. “I see you’ve been watching me,” Steve says stiffly into the phone when it does.

“ _It was a precaution_ ,” Fury replies.

Steve snorts a little derisively. “Maybe a _few months ago_. But now? You should’ve taken them _out_ ,” Steve says angrily.

“ _With your current house guest?_ ” Fury asks.

Steve glances over at Bucky who just looks back, expression unreadable, but his wings stiffen and he crosses his arms over his chest. He can hear Fury talking on the line. Steve keeps forgetting.

Steve looks back down at the bugs, teeth gritting for a moment. “ _I don’t want anymore bugs in my apartment_ ,” Steve says firmly, “If anything happens, I’ll handle it.”

“ _Are you sure you’ll be able to?_ ” Fury asks next.

“ _I’ll handle it_ ,” Steve replies through slightly clenched teeth, hanging up before Fury can say anything else.

The apartment is silent for a few moments before Bucky breaks it by saying, “He’s right, you know.”

Steve’s eyes dart over to him, frowning. Bucky looks calmly back. “About me. I don’t like it, but he’s right. It’d be safer if you had someone watching your back while I’m here.”

Steve shakes his head, walking around the table into the kitchen and opening a bottom cupboard to pull out a garbage bag, phone still in his hand. He comes back over and sets his phone down onto the table, getting the bag peeled open before scooping the bugs into it and holding the bag closed with one hand while forcing the air out of it with his other, hand sliding down to the bottom of the bag before twisting it up and setting the bag on the counter. He holds it with one hand while bringing his other fist down on it a couple of times, breaking the bugs inside before walking to the door.

Bucky doesn’t follow and Steve lets the door close halfway behind him, not too worried about Bucky following or someone breaking in.

He quickly strides down the stairs with barefeet and pushes his way out of the apartment building, opening one of the outside garbage dumpsters off to the side of it and dropping the bag inside, letting the dumpster lid bang closed behind him as he heads back inside.

He runs into Kate coming out of her apartment and slows his steps, but makes sure to get to his door before completely stopping, blocking the inside of his apartment from view.

“Hi, Steve,” she says with a smile, blinking once and quirking a brow when she catches sight of his appearance. His messy hair, disheveled clothes, and barefeet.

“Hey, Kate,” Steve replies, mostly forcing a smile, “I uh. Had to take some trash out.”

“In a hurry?” she asks, teasing with another smile.

“Something like that,” Steve replies, smiling something a little more real. He just barely keeps himself from freezing when he feels Bucky stop a couple feet from his back. From Kate’s lack of a reaction, he’s just out of her line of sight.

“Well, I have a...thing. Dishes. Breakfast! I have to make breakfast,” Steve stumbles. Kate raises her other eyebrow. “I haven’t had my coffee yet. The caffeine doesn’t work on me anymore, but I still can’t really seem to function that great in the mornings without it,” Steve rambles at her look, a little strained.

A finger pokes into the middle of his back and he only just keeps himself from twitching at it, face contorting slightly with the effort.

Kate laughs a little uncertainly at whatever his face must look like, but nods. “Seems like it might be a good idea,” she agrees. “Have a good day, Steve,” she adds, making her way towards the stairs.

“Yeah. You too,” Steve replies, backing up and quickly closing the door. He spins around and Bucky’s back on the couch, fiddling with the remote again.

“She seems nice,” he hears Bucky say as he comes back into the room.

Steve gestures towards the kitchen even though Bucky’s not looking at him. “Coffee?” Steve asks a little helplessly. A little desperately.

“Sure,” Bucky replies lightly, but Steve doesn’t buy his tone for a minute.

He gets the coffee machine going before Bucky says, “Should’ve left the bugs.”

Steve lets out a loud breath and Bucky turns to look at him over the back of the couch. “I’m glad you took them out,” Steve tells him honestly.

Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly before darting off to the side.

Oh.

“You didn’t take them out,” Steve pieces together, voice a little quieter.

Bucky doesn’t move for a minute, still looking away before he gets up, setting the remote down onto the coffee table in front of the couch before coming around it and stopping next to the table by the kitchen. “I don’t think I should be here,” Bucky says, just as quiet, expression a little pinched, “It’s not safe for you. It’s not safe for anyone.”

“Bucky,” Steve starts, letting out a quieter breath.

But Bucky shakes his head, wings twitching a little at his back and expression more intent. “Steve. _He’s not safe_. I don’t trust him, still. I shouldn’t have left the S.H.I.E.L.D. building. I should _still be in that cell. It’s not safe_ -” he cuts off. Steve’s eyes dart to where Bucky’s hands have become fists at his sides, his own heart clenching. Steve looks back up.

“Bucky,” Steve starts again, “I don’t think _James_ is going to hurt me. I don’t think he really _wants_ to hurt anyone.”

Bucky’s jaw jumps slightly when he clenches it and he shakes his head, expression going angry. “You don’t _know_ that. You _can’t_ know that. Even _I_ can’t.”

Steve’s expression pinches a little, wings twitching faintly at his back with the urge to get closer, but he stays where he is. “Maybe not,” Steve agrees, and Bucky stares at him, “But that’s not the feeling I get when I’m around him. He doesn’t strike me as someone who’s just going to go out and _kill someone_. Or me.”

Bucky stands a little straighter, eyes widening slightly before narrowing. “I don’t want him around you. He tried to _kill you!_ ” he half yells, and Steve steels himself, because they’ve _almost-had_ this conversation a few times now, but this time it seems like they _might actually have it_.

“Yes,” Steve acknowledges with a nod, “But things have changed since then. _He’s_ changed,” he tries, reasonably.

Bucky’s eyes widen a little again before his wings snap out angrily, teeth gritting. Some of his loose feathers fall to the floor and Steve has the absurd thought that there must be some on the couch, too. Bucky still hasn’t groomed them.

“You _trust_ him?” Bucky demands.

“I-” Steve cuts off, his own eyes widening a little and wings stiffening at his back. Does he? He hadn’t really...thought about it. “I...I think I do,” he says, a little quieter. Bucky’s wings pull in a little and he goes still in a way that’s sending warning bells off in Steve’s head. “I do, Buck,” Steve says anyway, eyes on him, “He...I do.”

Bucky’s wings pull in sharply the rest of the way, eyes dropping to the table next to him while his fists uncurl. Steve would feel more comfortable if he’d lash out, curl his fists further, but _this Bucky_ isn’t exactly _the old one_ , and he doesn’t always _act_ like the old one, either. Steve’s not sure what to do with this new kind of silence, it’s different from any he’s had with Bucky before, but he feels like he just went somewhere Bucky didn’t want him to.

They stay where they are for a few moments, Steve ignoring the sound of the coffee machine finishing and Bucky unmoving, not looking at him. Steve wishes he’d look at him.

“Buc-” he starts.

“I need to be alone,” Bucky cuts him off, turning quickly and heading down the hall. Steve hears the bedroom door close soon after.

Steve closes his mouth, lips pressing into a firm line. He turns towards the coffee machine almost numbly, wiping at his eyes with a hand when his vision starts to blur. His eyes spot a few feathers to his right and he reaches down to pick them up, looking at them for a moment before setting them gently onto the counter. He only pours one cup of coffee.

The apartment’s too quiet again.

\--

Bucky comes to a stop in the middle of the room, letting out a choked sound that he quickly cuts off and turns into a stuttering breath instead, wings finally allowed to tremble at his back.

He forces himself to breathe for a few minutes, the tightness of his throat easing and the moisture in his eyes halting its build. He wipes at his eyes with hand before looking around the room, gaze darting to the desk in the corner. He walks over to it, looking in the drawers until he finds a notepad in one and a pencil in the other-

He cracks a smile, because _of course_ Steve would have those, even in a guest room.

Bucky glances behind himself before backing up and sitting on the edge of the bed, balancing the notepad on a leg before scribbling a note.

He lets out a breath when he’s done, staring at his neat, curved letters for a moment before scooting back to lie down on the bed, setting the notepad down next to his left hand. He’s still wearing the S.H.I.E.L.D. issue clothes. The dresser has some clothes in it (he looked), but a shower hadn’t been the first thing on his mind when the sun rose. He couldn’t get himself to sleep, too worried about-

Bucky forces his eyes closed and lets out another, slower breath, wings sagging against the top of the sheets. He only lets himself sleep when he has his fingertips securely on the notepad.

\--

Steve puts his scattered out clothes back first, folding each article of clothing while his eyes continuously glance through his doorway to Bucky’s at the other end of the hall. It’s been quiet since he locked himself in there a few hours ago.

Steve grimaces a little, going over their words from earlier while he cleans up his room. There’s nothing he can do about it right now. And besides, what he said was true, even if Bucky doesn’t like it. Steve doesn’t think that’s something he can change, not on his own. He gets that Bucky doesn’t trust James, or thinks he gets it. He knows it’s different for Bucky, that it must be more... _terrifying_ , sharing your body with someone else who may or may not decide to go kill people, with _your hands_. But Steve hadn’t been lying. He doesn’t think James would do that, not now. Even before, before Bucky and before James, The Winter Soldier _alone_ was...not unlike a tool, a weapon.

Steve grimaces again, folding another shirt and sliding it back into a drawer. James isn’t that anymore, he doesn’t think. He knows _Bucky_ isn’t. When Steve looks at both of them, all he sees are a couple of people broken out of a cycle they didn’t have control over, or control over _themselves_ , and now they do. James as a person…

Steve lets out a frustrated breath. He doesn’t see a murderer in James. James seems to do things for a reason. Murder doesn’t need a reason.

Steve sits on the couch after he’s gotten his room cleaned up, tv set on an old music station ( _not as old as he is, but it’s close_ ) and eyes unfocused on some part of the wall next to it, drifting occasionally to the spot where Bucky had looked last night, where The Winter Soldier ( _James?_ ) had stood that night in Steve’s apartment, where he had _seen Steve’s wings_ -

He hears a breath behind him and holds himself still, his own breath catching in his throat. Steve didn’t even hear him open his door.

For one, terrifying moment that feels like it stretches into hours he thinks maybe he was wrong to trust James. But then James hops over the back of the couch with his usual, nearly impossible grace, landing silently a few feet away from Steve on the cushions. Steve lets himself relax a little.

They’re silent, like they usually are, for a few minutes, old tunes playing through new speakers the only real sound in the quiet. Steve leans back a little further into the couch, cushions pushing his wings up slightly around him. He glances over to see James’ eyes scanning the room, taking everything in, even though he’s been in here before.

His eyes finally land on Steve. “It’s different. In the daylight,” he says quietly.

Steve smiles a little. “Didn’t you see it earlier?” he asks.

James’ eyes narrow slightly in thought before he glances around the room again, eyes landing back on Steve again after. “I was completing a task.” Which means he was probably so focused on removing the bugs that he didn’t bother taking in the room, aesthetically.

“Thank you,” Steve says, and James angles his head just slightly, “For removing the bugs, I mean,” Steve clarifies.

James tilts his head up slightly, eyes dropping to the cushions between them. Steve thinks he might be debating something before James looks back up and nods once, eyes going to the tv in front of them after. “Where are the Meerkats?” James asks, still quiet.

Steve straightens a little before smiling, reaching forward to grab the tv remote off of the coffee table and offer it over to James, who stares at it for a moment before reaching up with a hand to take it (carefully, Steve notices), fiddling with it briefly before pointing it at the tv and changing it back to the animal channel.

The Meerkat documentary is, miraculously, still on, though it looks like it’s coming to a close, but James changes it back to the music station after a moment, angling his head slightly as he listens to the music.

“You are familiar with this?” he asks quietly, looking back over at Steve.

Steve looks at the tv, making a noncommittal sound. “Mostly,” he answers, “It covers songs from 1940 to 1950, so some of it is new to me. Or old.” Steve frowns a little, pushing the thoughts that arise on that aside. He looks back over, wings flaring slightly in surprise at what he sees.

James has his eyes closed, listening intently, wings twitching slightly in time to the beats.

Steve stays still, watching him, eyes going over his face and still messy wings at his back, the feathers that have dislodged and are covering a little of the couch and floor, at him dressed in something other than a white tank top and shorts, in surroundings so...normal. It’s jarring, but Steve thinks it...kind of suits him.

James opens his eyes after two more songs and looks over, expression not exactly relaxed, but, well, a little more relaxed than he can usually get it.

“Can I change it?” James asks, quiet.

Steve nods, and James lifts the remote, carefully going through each music channel until he finally stops on one playing Classical. It’s already well into the song, crescendoing at an intense climax with various strings. James looks over again, mouth opening briefly before closing again, eyes dropping to his lap and eyebrows furrowing slightly like he’s conflicted.

“Whatever it is,” Steve says, James’ eyes darting to him, “Go ahead.”

James continues to look at him for a few moments before looking back to the tv and turning the volume up almost painfully loud, rising from the couch to walk over and sit cross legged in front of it. His wings sag a little against the floor after a minute and Steve thinks he might’ve heard him let out a long, quiet breath, like he’s at ease. When Steve leans to the side a little, he can see James’ eyes are closed.

Steve smiles a little, small and fond and, a little selfishly, is glad that his closest neighbor isn’t home right now. The walls here aren’t thin, but they’re not soundproof either. He makes a mental note to buy some headphones for him.

Steve gets up to go start on lunch, and when he comes back into the living room, James is curled up, asleep on the floor.

\--

James’ eyes snap open to a dark room, eyes quickly focusing and darting between the movie titles he can see a couple feet in front of his face, mind a whirl of confusion. He listens intently, only hears the sound of faint, slow breathing and slowly pushes himself up, glancing down at the soft material that slips down his right arm. His eyebrows draw together a little, sitting up all the way and letting the blanket pool in his lap before looking around, eyes quickly finding the shape that’s breathing on the couch. He’s not in a cell. He’s not in a cryotube. He’s not in Russia. He’s in Steve’s apartment.

James pushes himself up, leaving the blanket on the floor to pad silently over to the couch, careful to avoid stepping on any of Steve’s feathers.

He pauses a foot away, watching Steve sleep, curled a little on his side with his left wing thrown over it and trailing across the floor. He stares down at him for a long moment before walking back over to pick up the blanket, carrying it back to the couch to lay it over Steve, a little hesitantly, making sure to move slow enough so that he doesn’t wake him.

James inspects his work critically for a moment before deeming it acceptable and walking around the couch, moving silently down the hall with more careful steps than usual.

He closes the door to... _his room_ behind him just as silently, walking over to the bed and sitting down on the edge, reaching over to grab the notepad he’d found there earlier and lift it up to read it again in the dark.

‘ _Anything happens to him, I’ll do it_. ’

James reaches over for the pencil he’d also left on top of the sheets and balances the notepad on his leg, scribbling down his own message before setting the notepad and pencil back down on the bed, getting up to move to the center of the room, back to it.

‘ ** _In this, we agree_.** ’

The words are sharp, jagged, nothing like the curved and swooped lines of _Bucky_.

He starts his daily exercises.


	10. Will I break or will I bend

Steve stretches his right wing forward, slowly carding his fingers through the black feathers, straightening the ones that need it and gently tugging loose the ones working their way out, setting the loose feathers to his left on top of the bed where he’s sitting cross legged on the covers, facing the other side of the room.

He slides his fingers through them one last time before pulling his right wing back in and starting in on his left, hair still damp from his shower and loose tshirt and sweatpants sticking to him a little with it. He’s so focused, he doesn’t hear his door open a little or the halting, silent footsteps. The sharp intake of breath catches his attention though and he snaps his wing back, eyes darting wide and panicked towards the door.

Bucky’s standing there - at least he thinks it’s Bucky, he’s getting better at telling the two apart - eyes not quite as wide as Steve’s but still wide. They both freeze, staring at each other for one long moment before Bucky clears his throat quietly, eyes darting anywhere but Steve before finally settling back on him. “Do you- They’re not-” Bucky stumbles, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself before opening them again, “They’re not white,” he says a little lamely.

Steve forces his heart rate back down and lets out a slow, quiet breath, glancing at his left wing before looking back at Bucky. He ducks his head a little, shaking it before glancing back up. “No,” he replies a little quietly, “It’s...even with all the advances, it’s still hard to groom them when they’re covered in chemicals.”

Bucky’s mouth flattens into a line and Steve bites the inside of his cheek. Of course Bucky would be mad about the dye. Of course he would be. He _always_ was. And it’s not like Steve doesn’t understand, not like he isn’t mad about it himself, but he’s not _just_ mad about it. It’s...complicated.

Bucky nods his chin towards Steve’s wings a little, which twitch slightly at Steve’s back with the motion. “Do you want any help?” Bucky asks, just as quiet.

Steve stares at him, and after a bit, Bucky’s wings start to shuffle a little nervously behind him, but he keeps his face mostly straight, waiting. He hasn’t let Steve, or anyone, touch them since they found him. Steve still doesn’t know why. But...maybe now he might...be more comfortable with it. Steve’s certainly going to try.

Steve nods and Bucky’s wings stop shuffling while he lets out a slightly relieved breath, slowly walking around the bed before taking a careful seat just below Steve’s pillows to Steve’s right, Steve scooting back a little to give him some more room. The bed’s big, more than big enough for the both of them.

“Like before?” Steve asks, unable to keep the hope out of his voice or expression.

Bucky’s wings stiffen at his back and he glances at them, giving them a long, unreadable look.

Steve waits. Bucky knows Steve won’t make him if he really doesn’t want to, but Steve’s selfishly hoping he will.

Bucky finally looks back at Steve, nodding once. “Yeah. Sure,” he replies quietly, going a little still in the way Steve’s starting to think means he’s actually uncomfortable.

Steve slowly stretches his left wing out towards Bucky’s right side, hiding him from the other side of the room while Bucky slowly, a little reluctantly, stretches his right out like a mirror image, the inner, more vulnerable side bare to Steve.

“We don’t have to,” Steve offers gently. He can tell Bucky’s not entirely comfortable with it, and though his wings _do_ need grooming, Steve’s not going to push him.

But Bucky shakes his head a little, bringing his eyes from his stretched out wing to Steve’s face, looking at him for a long moment before shifting his attention to Steve’s left wing. His fingers, slowly, reach up as he brings his arms out, right on the outside and left on the inside, just as slowly and carefully running his fingers along the outer and inside feathers like playing a harp, stopping when he runs into ones that need straightening or to be removed.

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, reaching up to carefully do the same with Bucky’s. It’s not exactly like how they used to do it. Bucky’s more hesitant, even if Steve doesn’t know why, and Steve’s not used to anyone but himself touching his wings anymore, especially...not when they’re this color. He forces his attention back to Bucky’s wing and doesn’t let his eyes wander to the black of his own.

“I remember doing this, once,” Bucky says quietly some time later, when they’ve both fallen into a comfortable, companionable rhythm. Bucky’s more relaxed, looser, even.

Steve hums in quiet agreement, keeping his eyes on Bucky’s wing. He doesn’t want to give him a reason to stop talking, and there’s so many old feathers lodged and clumped together. The bright, white new ones are trying to push out the old, stained gray ones, but without help they just get jammed up.

“ _James_ remembers it,” Bucky states, voice sounding a little bitter. Steve glances over to see his expression has turned a little sour, too.

“He asked if we were lovers,” Steve says quietly, not sure why he does, just that it comes out.

Bucky’s fingers still for a moment before he continues, straightening one feather before gently easing out another. “ _Of course he did_ ,” Bucky says a little darkly. Steve holds in a sigh.

“I told him we weren’t,” Steve finds himself saying next, softer. Bucky doesn’t look at him. “We just...took care of each other,” Steve finishes a little quieter, glancing at Bucky with his lips quirked up.

Bucky looks back, expression still a little dark, but his fingers keep moving, more comfortable with the motions now and still gentle. His eyes are a little curious. Guarded again, but Steve can still see the curiosity there. “What did he say to that?” Bucky asks quietly, setting another black feather between them. Steve adds a handful of light gray ones to the pile like poker chips. They shouldn’t be mixing their feathers, either, but they’ve never exactly followed social rules.

Steve shakes his head, eyes going back to Bucky’s wing. “Nothing,” he answers, “Just stared at me.”

He feels Bucky’s eyes on him for a minute before the prickle recedes.

“We… _are_ pretty close,” Bucky says a few minutes later, sentence lilting slightly like he’s not completely sure of it.

Steve brings his hands together on both sides of Bucky’s wing and tugs gently, smiling at Bucky when Bucky’s eyes jump to his. “Yeah,” Steve replies, and Bucky blinks, “We are.”

Bucky’s lips slowly curve up and stay that way when he goes back to working on Steve’s wing.

“You should keep them this way,” Bucky says another few minutes later. Steve frowns a little, keeping his eyes on where his fingers are easing out a few light gray feathers, dropping the discarded ones in the growing pile. “You shouldn’t...I like it when you don’t dye them,” Bucky continues, a frown in his voice, “They’re better as they _are_.” Steve glances over.

Bucky looks back, frown pulling down the corners of his mouth and eyebrows pulled together in a disapproving line. Steve can’t help huffing a breath, because it’s familiar, even though his stomach is clenching.

“I’m serious, Steve,” Bucky says more firmly. Steve forces his smile down and lets out a quiet sigh, looking back to Bucky’s wing, fingers still sifting through the feathers.

“I know you are,” Steve replies quietly, his own eyebrows pulling together, “I just...It’s not that simple, Buck.” The girl from the park a week ago flashes through his mind. It feels like it’s been a lot longer.

Steve bites the inside of his cheek for a moment, taking time to steady himself again. “Things are easier now, but they’re also _not_ ,” he continues a little quieter. Bucky’s wing is relaxed under his hands, his body is, too. Bucky’s more relaxed than James in general, but he was never this relaxed inside the cell. “There’s so much pressure. And even though you’re _here_ , I still-” Steve cuts himself off, throat going a little tight. He glances over.

Bucky’s frowning at Steve’s wing, fingers still moving. He doesn’t say anything and neither does Steve, going back to Bucky’s wing.

\--

“I’m going out for a bit,” Steve announces. Bucky looks up from where he’s inspecting Steve’s book collection, hair still hanging limp, damp from his shower. “I need to get some groceries and a laptop for your Skype sessions,” Steve continues, “Do you want anything?”

Bucky glances back at the books in thought, looking back after a moment. “Get me something you’d never eat,” he deadpans. Steve blinks, expression going flat.

“Like unhealthy junk food,” Steve states.

“Like unhealthy junk food,” Bucky parrots, smirking.

Steve rolls his eyes, but his lips curve up as he heads for the door. “Sure thing, Buck,” he replies lightly.

“And some Vodka!” Bucky calls to him, half joking. He hears Steve snort as he opens the door.

“ _Sure thing!_ ” Steve jokingly calls back, closing the door behind himself.

Bucky smiles at the door for a moment before looking back to the bookshelf. He finishes looking it over before heading to his room, pulling the notepad out from between the mattress when he gets to the bed.

‘ _Found two more devices. Kitchen. Living room._ ’

Bucky frowns at it, listening for a moment before scribbling down his own note.

\--

‘ _Someone’s too close_.’

James stares at the note for a minute, thinking, before listening intently, ears picking up a small noise.

He keeps himself still, listening to the front door’s lock _click_ and the door slide open, soft footsteps entering the apartment.

They stay in the front room, out of the hall, and are gone a few minutes later. James sets the notepad down on the bed before exiting the room, heading down the hall. He lets his eyes wander before he goes through everything in the living room, kitchen, and hallway that leads to the door, finding one bug under the kitchen table and another under the couch.

 _Bucky_ is wary of him.

Steve doesn’t like the bugs in his apartment.

James crushes them with his left hand.

He tosses the scraps into the trash before heading back to his room, scribbling down another note.

\--

‘ _Very close. 2.5 minutes after departure_.’

Bucky’s frown deepens, listening to the door open and close. “ _Hey, Buck? I got your junk food!_ ” Steve calls from what sounds like somewhere in the kitchen.

“Coming!” Bucky calls back, sliding the notepad back between the mattresses before walking out, eyes lighting up when he spots the mound of wrapped deserts next to a new laptop and two bags on the table.

“Aww, Stevie,” he says, overly sweet. Steve’s wings twitch a little at his back where he’s putting groceries in the fridge. “You shouldn’t have,” Bucky says, batting his eyelashes at Steve when he looks at Bucky over his shoulder.

Steve sends him a flat look and Bucky grins, tearing open one of the small chocolate cakes and taking a bite. He groans into it and Steve’s wings give a jerky twitch out of the corner of his eye. Bucky closes his eyes, moaning a little. “Steve,” he says, swallowing, “ _Steve_. The future is _amazing_. I don’t need flying cars, just give me _these_.”

Bucky hears Steve snort and opens his eyes to look over. Steve’s expression looks torn between amusement and disgust. Bucky frowns playfully. “Don’t make that face. Have you _tried_ these?” he asks, “Because you won’t be making that face when you do.”

Steve rolls his eyes, putting the last of the vegetables away. “Sure, Buck,” Steve replies uninterestedly.

“I know you like sweets,” Bucky challenges, eyebrows furrowing a little. Steve used to love that pie his ma made and the cake Bucky’s made, he’s sure of it. But...Maybe he remembered something wrong.

Steve looks over, wadding up all of the plastic bags and cramming them into a cupboard under the sink. “I like sweets just fine,” Steve says, raising an eyebrow. Bucky keeps the relief from his face. “But I like _homemade_ sweets. Those are just disgusting,” Steve says, pointing at the desert in Bucky’s hands.

Bucky’s expression goes blank before he suddenly crams the rest of the cake into his mouth, cheeks puffing out. He grins at him and Steve makes a disgusted face.

“Slob,” Steve says.

“ _Punk_ ,” Bucky replies automatically, mouth full. His eyes widen a little and his wings flare out slightly. It feels good to be able to do that without them feeling clogged up by all of the extra feathers, even if the experience was jarring as fuck.

That reply had been automatic, but it felt...old. Right.

Steve freezes, catching the same thing, before his wings sag a little at his back and his expression goes a little wobbly. “ _Jerk_ ,” he replies a little quieter, smile curving up his lips.

Bucky smiles back, then stretches it after a minute to show all of the chocolate between his teeth.

Steve makes a disgusted noise, shoving him with edge of a wing.

Bucky laughs. It surprises them both.

Bucky recovers first, eyes going to the extra bags left on the table while he chews and swallows down the rest of the cake in his mouth. “What’s in those?” he asks for the distraction.

Steve shakes himself out of his surprise and comes over, opening one of the bags and pulling out the contents. It’s shaving cream, some disposable razors, and a packet of hair ties.

Bucky blinks at them, looking over at Steve, raising an eyebrow. Steve’s face goes a little red and he ducks his head, wings shifting a little anxiously at his back. “I couldn’t get you a straight razor,” Steve starts, “And I wasn’t sure if you’d want to shave or not. I just...saw them and thought ‘what the hell’?” Steve glances over and Bucky looks back down at them, setting down the cake’s plastic wrapper and picking up the shaving cream. He quirks a brow at Steve.

“Real subtle,” he says, a little deadpan, smirk pulling up his lips.

Steve’s face goes a darker shade of red, wings stilling at his back before shuffling a little more animatedly. “I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have-” Steve stumbles out.

Bucky nudges his right wing into Steve’s shifting left, stilling it with his own while smiling. “I’m just kidding,” he says.

Steve’s other wing stills at his back and he lets out a breath, smiling back and nudging Bucky’s wing with his own.

Bucky looks back down at the shaving cream, picking up the disposable razors and hair ties after a moment, along with the rest of the wrapped mini-cakes piled into his arms before heading down the hall towards the bathroom. “I’ll leave the door open,” he calls over his shoulder.

“ _You don’t have to_ ,” Steve calls back.

Bucky shakes his wings out a little playfully, lips twitching up when he hears Steve huff a small laugh.

\--

When Bucky comes back out into the main room, his hair’s pulled back into a ponytail and his beard-in-progress is gone. He stops and turns in a full circle in the space between the large living room and kitchen, holding his hands out to his sides with a smile after he’s done. “How do I look?”

Steve stares where he’s sitting on the couch with the laptop recently set up in his lap, shaking himself out of it when Bucky’s wings start shifting anxiously and his smile starts faltering when Steve doesn’t reply.

“You look good, Buck,” Steve says honestly with his own smile.

Bucky’s smile edges back up into something more confident. “Yeah?” he asks, posing a little, “I think I rock the hair.”

Steve snorts with a roll of his eyes, getting up from the couch with the laptop to carry it over.

“Fury called while you were in the bathroom _primping_ ,” Steve says a little sarcastically, grinning when Bucky shoves him with a wing, “And said your session starts in twenty minutes. I wasn’t sure where you wanted to have it, so I setup the wireless.” Steve hands the laptop over and Bucky takes it with his left arm, balancing it effortlessly while raising an eyebrow at him. Steve frowns a little. “What?”

“You know how to setup a wireless connection?” Bucky asks, lips twitching up a little on the sides.

Steve shoves him with his own wing before heading into the kitchen. “Why _yes_ , I _do_ know how to set up a wireless internet connection. And hook it up through a _router, too_ ,” Steve says, opening the fridge to pull out some bread before looking over his shoulder with large eyes. “The _terrifying wonders_ of the _future, Buck_ ,” he says exaggeratedly

Bucky shakes a little with silent laughter before it finally bubbles out of him, balancing the laptop with his other hand when it starts tipping precariously. “Okay, okay,” Bucky concedes, laughter dying down. His eyes drop to the table and his eyebrows pull together a little, looking back up. “What was in that second bag you had on the table?”

Steve pauses briefly where he’s reaching for the cheese and sliced meat in the fridge. He pulls it out, careful to reply while putting them on the counter, facing away from Bucky. “I got something for James,” he says casually.

He hears a creak and he turns, eyes darting over. Bucky’s gone still, and his left hand is squeezing the side of the laptop almost hard enough to break. Steve sends him a look, speaking up when he doesn’t seem to notice. “ _Bucky_. The _laptop_.”

Bucky blinks, dropping his eyes to the laptop before he loosens his grip, setting it over on the table before looking back up at Steve. “What did you get him,” Bucky demands a little flatly.

Steve frowns a little, wings twitching at his back. “It’s not a big deal,” Steve tries.

Bucky’s expression goes a little dark and Steve frowns a little more.

He sighs, throwing his hands up. “Just some headphones,” Steve finally lets out. Bucky’s face contorts in confusion. “He was listening to some music yesterday really loud on the tv, and Kate wasn’t home that time but she might be the next time and I don’t want to disturb her. But I want him to be able to listen to music if he wants, too, so I got him some headphones.”

Bucky’s expression clears before going dark again. “Steve, you shouldn’t just _give him things_. He’s not- He’s not like a regular _person_.”

Steve’s feathers ruffle up, expression going a little angry. “But he _is_ a person, Buck,” Steve returns a little defensively, “And he had just as little choice and freedom as _you_ did.”

Bucky’s eyes widen and his wings flare out, looking off to the side.

Steve bites the inside of his lip, worried he’s gone too far while not entirely regretting it. James _is_ a person, and he can’t defend himself like this.

They’re quiet for a bit until Steve glances at the stove’s built in clock, eyes shifting back to Bucky. “Your session starts in five minutes,” he says, a little quietly.

Bucky grabs the laptop off of the table after a moment and turns to head down the hall without a word, Steve listening to the door close quietly behind him.

Steve sighs, leaning back against the counter for a few minutes, staring at the kitchen floor before turning around to put a sandwich together.

\--

Bucky resurfaces two hours later. Steve looks over from where he’s reading on the couch, back against an armrest and legs crossed at the ankle length-wise on the cushions, facing the hallway. Steve’s eyes roam over him for a moment while he comes around the couch, pulling his knees up to give him room to sit.

James sits silently, like he always does, and Steve looks at him for a moment before dropping his eyes back to his book.

It’s quiet for a few minutes before James states, “You won’t ask.”

“I won’t,” Steve confirms, re-reading the last three lines before finally being able to move onto the next section.

James pulls his feet up after a moment, curling up on his end of the couch. His feathers lightly brush Steve’s bare feet and Steve curls his toes a few times at the soft texture of them before settling again. He feels James eyes on him and looks up to find James looking at his toes. Steve curls them again, watching James’ eyes follow the movement before looking back up at him.

“Bucky was upset,” James says quietly.

Steve’s mouth pinches a little and he sinks a little lower against the couch’s armrest, wings curling around his sides slightly while his eyes drop down to his book. “We had an argument,” Steve says quietly.

He knows James’ head has tilted slightly to the side without having to look, his own form of a question.

“About you,” Steve answers it, staring at the lines on the page without actually reading them. It’s just a way to keep him from looking anywhere else at this point.

James is quiet for a minute before asking, “Why?”

Steve closes his book and holds it in his left hand, finger between the pages to mark his place while leaning over the side of the couch and reaching under it with his right, grabbing the second bag from earlier under it and pulling it out. He looks over, holding it. James hasn’t stiffened, but he’s watching Steve intently.

Steve glances at the bag for a moment before sitting up and holding it out to him over the couch.

James’ eyes drop to it, reaching forward to take it from him after a moment, gently, setting it in his lap before opening it. His eyes widen a little before he looks back up, another question there.

“So you can listen to music as loud as you want,” Steve answers it. James’s eyes widen a little again, looking back down at the bag in his lap for a long moment before reaching a hand in to pull the headphones out.

They’re blue, and still in their hard-plastic packaging.

He looks back up, not saying a word, and Steve’s wings shift a little nervously at his back. “I can take them back, if you don’t want them,” Steve offers quietly.

James shakes his head quickly, eyes a little wider before he looks back down at the headphones, pulling them in a little closer to himself and looking back up. “No, I-” James pauses, glancing at them again before looking back at Steve, “I like them. ...Thank you.”

Steve smiles, toes curling a little while nodding once. “You’re welcome.”

James’ lips curve up in a tiny smile before he looks back down at the headphones, running a finger over the top of the plastic packaging. He pries it open after a minute of looking at it, left hand making it easy, but Steve notices that he’s careful to inflict as little damage on the packaging as possible, and manages to get it open with only a couple of small tears, pulling the headphones and instructions out carefully before setting the empty packaging and plastic bag gently on top of the coffee table, setting the headphones in his lap and opening the instructions.

Steve leans back against the arm of the couch, opening his book again, but he looks up every now and then to watch James read over the instructions. He seems to read over _everything_ before finally getting up, setting the instructions on top of the coffee table with the packaging before walking over to the tv. He checks the left side of it and plugs the headphones in, turning the tv on where it’s already set to the same Classical channel.

James sits down in front of it, carefully sliding the headphones on over his head and ears and then adjusting the volume, wings sagging against the floor like last time after he’s gotten himself situated.

Steve smiles a little before focusing back on his book, smile stretching a little further when he hears quiet humming.

\--

Steve hangs up his phone two days later, frowning a little down at it.

“What is it?” Bucky asks from where he’s sprawled on the couch, a small collection of junk food on the coffee table that he hasn’t gone through yet and _Shark Week_ playing on the tv. He turns his head to look at Steve over the back of the couch.

They’re talking again, but Steve knows Bucky’s still not happy with him giving James the headphones. Or _anything_.

Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair before looking over. “Fury wants me to come in. Something about a strike team,” Steve replies, letting his hand drop back to his side and turning to head for the hall and his bedroom to change.

“ _On a mission?_ ” Bucky calls down after him. Steve pushes his way into his room and heads straight for his dresser, setting his phone down on top of it before slipping his sweatpants off and kicking them towards the basket in the corner, pulling out a pair of jeans.

“I don’t know!” Steve calls back, slipping the jeans on and grabbing his cellphone off the dresser to slip into his pocket. He grabs his jacket from where he’d dumped it in the corner opposite the laundry basket before heading back out of his room and down the hall. “Maybe,” he says, coming back into the main room. Bucky’s eyes shift from the tv back to him. “He wouldn’t explain it over the phone. Could just be a training exercise.”

Bucky grunts, reaching over to grab another wrapped piece of knock-off cake and rip the wrapper open as he settles back against the cushions. “What about me?” he asks, biting half of the cake off in the first go.

“He said you can stay here,” Steve replies. Bucky turns his head to look at him and frowns, wings still at his back. Steve shrugs, shoulders, wings and all. “I don’t know. I’m just as surprised as you are,” Steve says, “But you didn’t run out and do anything when I went grocery shopping, and I’m sure he knows. This could be a test for all I know.”

Bucky huffs a breath, looking back at the tv. “Because _that’d_ be shocking,” he mutters sarcastically, eating the other half of the cake.

Steve grabs his keys off of the table and slips his finger through the keyring as he grips them, pausing and looking back over at Bucky on the couch.

Bucky lets out a sigh, turning his head to look over at him again. “I’m not going to go anywhere,” he says.

Steve nods. “What about James?” he asks.

Bucky’s eyebrows jump up on his forehead, expression mock surprise. “ _Finally_ , some common sense. Only took you seventy years.”

Steve rolls his eyes before frowning a little.

“Nah, _we’re_ fine,” Bucky replies, wings shifting to get a little more comfortable at his back, “He won’t go anywhere.”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together a little. “How do you know?”

Bucky looks back at him for a few moments before turning back around to face the tv again. “Trust me. I know.”

Steve frowns a little again but, well, he does trust Bucky, so he decides to let it go. “Alright,” Steve says, heading for the door, “I’ll be back in about an hour. I’ll message you on Skype if I’m going to be longer, so keep it on.”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky replies, saluting without looking at him.

Steve rolls his eyes again before opening the door, closing and locking it behind him.

\--

Bucky sits up as soon as Steve’s steps fade down a few flights of stairs, turning the tv off and collecting his food and wrappers before heading to his room. He drops them on top of the bed, heading over to the desk against the far wall and opening his laptop, turning it on and logging in when it comes up. His eyes glance down at the desk drawer in the middle left where he knows the headphones are.

Skype starts up and logs in with the laptop’s start up and Bucky drags his eyes back to it before he heads over to the bed again, pulling the notepad out from between the mattresses, eyes scanning over his curved and James’ sharp letters.

‘ _Do not be angry.’_

_‘Don’t tell me what to do.’_

_‘The last time I heard music was during an assassination, years ago. It is nice to finally **listen** to it_.’

Bucky grits his teeth a little, frowning down at the notepad before dropping it on top of the bed with a huff of breath. What is he even supposed to say to that?

He stares down at the note for a minute before grabbing the pencil out from between the mattresses and bending down to write a reply.

‘ _You better not think about assassinating **Steve** while ‘listening’_.’

Bucky drops the pencil down on top of it and sets his hands on his hips, staring at it for a moment before a sound catches his attention. He drops his hands down to his sides, walking out of his room and down the hall silently towards where he can hear the lock clicking again. He reaches forward and turns the door handle, opening the door just as it gets unlocked.

A dark blonde haired woman quickly stands up straight, eyes a little wide and wings flaring out in surprise. “Oh. Hello there,” she says.

Bucky listens to her heart pound for a moment, beat increasing a little more the longer he looks at her. “Kate, right?” he asks, putting on a smile.

“Yes, that’s me,” she replies, returning the smile. He doesn’t miss her pupils dilating just a little bit.

“Did you need something?” Bucky asks after a few moments of them looking at each other.

“No, no,” she replies easily, “I heard there was something jammed in Steve’s lock, so I thought I’d try to get it out for him. He’s a nice man, I didn’t want it to cause him any trouble.”

Bucky leans against the doorframe with his right shoulder, hip cocked out, testing. She doesn’t bat an eye, body even relaxing a little further the way his sometimes does when he’s preparing for a fight.

That’s what he thought.

“Nah,” Bucky replies just as easily, wings still at his back, “He got the lock to work before he left. It’s fine now.”

Kate puts on a smile. It’s pretty convincing. She’s good.

“That’s good, I’m glad to hear it,” she says, wings sagging a little in relief at her back. He’d almost buy it if he didn’t know better. “I have another shift in a few minutes,” she adds, “But it was nice to meet you…?”

“You can call me Bucky,” he says, flirtatious smirk quirking up his lips. Kate’s wings stiffen a little before relaxing again, her smile easing a little more. He’s made her uncomfortable.

“It was nice to meet you then, Bucky,” she says, smiling back, “Please tell Steve I said ‘hi’.”

“Will do,” Bucky replies, watching her turn for her door and return to her own apartment.

He stands there for a moment, listening to her steps pause inside her doorway before continuing, turning around to head back into the apartment after and closing the door behind him, locking it.

He heads back to his room and picks up the pencil, jotting down another note before dropping it back on top of the bed and heading over to his desk.

‘ _I know who’s bugging the apartment. Don’t act._ ’


	11. Why am I feeling so guilty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gina and I are having a lot of James feels.

“You want me to what?” Steve asks, leaning back a little and feathers flaring out a bit, surprised.

“I want you to train Rumlow’s S.T.R.I.K.E. team,” Fury repeats, relaxed back in his chair, “You’ve been training enough with Natasha and Clint, along with a few others, that you’re more than qualified to teach them some of what you’ve learned. It will help give them a little more edge. They need it.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, looking at him for a moment. “Is that your way of saying Natasha and Clint refused so I’m your only other option?”

Fury narrows his eye slightly. “Will you or won’t you?” Which means, yes, Natasha and Clint most definitely refused and Steve _is_ Fury’s only other option. He’ll have to ask them why they turned it down. It sounds easy enough.

Steve drops his eyes to the desk in thought, letting out a quiet breath when he finally reaches a decision, looking back up. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Fury replies, in his own brand of sarcasm. Steve’s lips twitch up a little. “You’ll start today.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “What about Bucky?”

Fury raises one back. “What about him?”

Steve purses his lips, brow furrowing a little in thought. “So this is another test,” he concludes.

Fury just looks at him for another moment before focusing back on the few papers on his desk. “The team will be waiting for you in Training Room 2.”

Steve turns and goes, tapping the button for the floor he wants once he's inside the elevator while pulling his cellphone out of his pocket, sending Bucky a quick message before sliding it back in.

The elevator comes to a stop and Steve steps out, heading for the training room’s gym to change into one of the standard extra pairs of S.H.I.E.L.D. tshirts and sweatpants, checking his phone for a reply before heading out to meet the team. There isn’t one, but he wasn’t really expecting it.

It’s easy to spot the S.T.R.I.K.E team. They’re all dressed in black workout clothes and surrounding a training mat in the center of the room, two of them already sparring while the occasional agent working out or flying around the room glances over. One of the men sparring on the mat goes down hard and the one that took him down looks up. Steve’s seen him somewhere before. Must have passed him in a hall at some point.

The man looking at him looks back down to the team member he just took down, offering him a hand up before they all turn to Steve and stand to attention.

“Captain,” the one that looks familiar greets. Steve comes to a stop a few feet away. “Agent Brock Rumlow,” he introduces himself, holding out a hand.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve returns, shaking it with his own, “But I’m assuming you knew that already,” he adds, lips quirking up.

Rumlow’s do the same as they let go, nodding over to the rest of the team before he starts introducing them as well.

\--

A _ping_ from the desk draws his attention and he slips off the bed, walking over to it and leaning down over the back of the desk chair to let his eyes scan over the laptop screen.

‘ _Training a team. Will be back a little late. Also, it is a test. >:(_’

James stares at the message for a moment, lips twitching up a little at the face before straightening back up and heading back over to the bed to sit down, one leg half crossed on top of the covers and left leg over the edge, bare foot flat on the floor. His eyes dart over to the notepad again for the fifth time, what he thinks might be frustration bubbling up in his chest.

‘ _I know who’s bugging the apartment. Don’t act_.’

He could ignore Bucky’s order. He has that _choice_ now. But…would that make Steve angry?

His brow furrows and he glances over to the laptop on the desk against the left wall before looking back to the notepad.

His lips part to let out a small, quiet puff of air before he gets up from the bed and walks over to the desk to pull his headphones out of the middle drawer on the left and closes it, grabbing the laptop and balancing it in his right arm with his headphones in the same hand. He pulls the hair tie out with his left that Bucky put in on the way to the door, dropping it next to the notepad on the bed before taking the laptop with him out to the living room, eyes darting to the front door on his way.

James sets the laptop down on the coffee table facing the tv and plugs his headphones into the side of the television, running a finger over the smooth, blue-lined black headband on them before slipping them on and sitting down in front of the screen, reaching back to the coffee table behind him to grab the remote and turn it on.

The sound is down lower than he likes it which lets him listen to the music while also listening for any disturbances. His wings shift a little restlessly behind him for a few tense moments before he finally angles himself to the right towards the other side of the room, putting the hallway to the front door in view. He never fully relaxes.

His mind darts over scenarios as the hour slips by ( _Front door: obvious point of entry. Use the couch as cover. Steve left his shield. Use it to cover your right. Steve left his shield_ -), and the shades and colors of the room bring up flashes of memory, like most colors do ( _Red: Hair like fire and blood dripping down metal. Blue: Eyes and the sky tinted by goggle lenses. Gray: A cell, a chair, his arm_ ). The music distracts him, turns his chaotic, _pinging_ thoughts into eased background noise. It gives him a reprieve.

He knows Natalia thinks he is nearly blank. That he is the fuse on an explosive lit and trying to reach the dynamite. That she’s waiting for him to go off.

He knows the few others he met at S.H.I.E.L.D. found his silence strange, and him as empty as his lack of words. But he does not _lack_ words. He just _chooses_ to not voice the mess in his head. The puzzle pieces are there, but even after many have clicked into place, others still try, and some never will, they are jagged, tangled things. Their time is not linear. He knows some memories are older because they are faded, knows some are newer because they are not, but none of them flow in order.

The few memories he has of Steve are warm. Like sunlight on what skin he has ever had bare in it. Sunlight that warms down past his scarred skin and muscles and bones, always unsure if that feeling is his or _Bucky’s_. And he thinks he might envy Bucky those memories. They are not like the ones he knows _do_ belong to himself.

His memories of Natalia are incomplete, but they feel like cold, harsh winters. Of hard hits and sharp smiles. Most of them are covered in red, either from her hair, fire, or the blood of those they have killed together ( _always together. Until-_ )

The memories he has in between, of his time as The Winter Soldier ( _The Asset. And he will always be that. Even **Bucky** will be that_ ) are a mess of chaos and placid calm. They are peaceful in their simplicity one moment, then jarring and flashes of bits and pieces the next, minutes and seconds of time he only now has more aware access to. They are the erratic pulse of cardiac arrest and seizure, and the slow beat of a long held cello note. They are perhaps the worst, but together with the others…They become a little more bearable.

He wonders if is the same for _Bucky_.

James blinks out of his tangled yarn of thoughts and glances at the white feathers splayed along the floor in slowly goldening daylight streaming through the cracks in the blinds from the windows, wings stiff and still mostly neat, _clean_ ( _and he cannot feel that moment of Steve’s fingers in them, but he is sure that **Bucky** can. That **Bucky** allowed it_ ), and it is only then that he realizes how relaxed he has let himself become around Steve. How...lonely the silences are when his soft breaths, quiet laughs, and voice do not fill the space, asking him questions or merely breathing the same air. Silence and solitude have never bothered him before, but now he notices it even _with_ the distraction of his mind.

Something stutters in his chest.

He keeps his eyes open through the next two hours even though they want to close, keeping a lookout on the room with soft music in his ears and head. The strings sound like wing beats and the brass sound like war, and part of him longs for both ( _another part of him longs for neither_ ).

The room has slowly gone dark with the setting of the sun and the thunder clouds that have rolled in outside, dark and gray smothering the last of daylight. The lightning that splashes across the room through the barely opened blinds lights everything up in bursts and he thinks of Europe. The laptop’s been silent, no new messages, screen gone black in idle.

The apartment is quiet the whole time, no locks turned and no door opened, only filled with the sounds of thunder and the occasional few minutes of heavy rain that pounds against the windows outside along with his quiet breathing.

When he does finally hear the lock in the door _click_ , he pulls his headphones off and shuts down the tv, sitting up straighter, alert and ready.

There’s quiet shuffling before two _thump-thumps_ in the hallway ( _too loud. Must be Steve. Unless the spy is an amateur, but that is unlikely_ ) and then Steve is walking into the room, steps quieter than James thinks he realizes. His clothes are soaked through and his hair is plastered to his face, feathers leaving their own dripping trail of water on the hardwood floor behind him. James thinks he looks tired.

He watches Steve’s eyes quickly scan the room before finding him, lighting up in the way they’ve started doing since they played ‘tag’ at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. He can’t recall anyone’s eyes doing what Steve’s do when they look at him. There’s curiosity there, something akin to quiet delight, but also something _other_ , too. Something that makes him feel a small heat in his chest, similar to what he can remember feeling once with Natalia a long time ago. It’s unsettling.

Steve peels his coat off and folds it over the back of one of the table’s chairs before walking over to the back of the couch. “Hey, James,” he greets, like he’s settling on it. He’s gotten better at telling him and Bucky apart. He’s not sure if he likes being so easily identified yet. “Training ran a little longer than I was expecting. Sorry.” And Steve _is_ , too.

James wings give a small twitch and he gets up after a moment, walking out of the room and down the hall towards the bathroom, feeling eyes on his back and wings.

He grabs a towel from the closet opposite the sink and walks back out into the main room, watching Steve’s eyes go from confusion to surprise when they spot it.

James stops a foot in front of him, Steve leaning back a little and drenched wings flaring slightly with the proximity. They’ve never been this close before, not voluntarily, and it’s doing something to James’ insides that he vaguely understands. It’s still unsettling.

They stare at each other.

James breaks the silence. “You’re wet,” he states, voice quiet.

“I-” Steve cuts off, blinking. “Yeah,” he agrees, voice lowering a little. Either to match him or the mood the rain tends to bring, he’s not sure.

James drops his eyes to the towel before unfolding it, making sure to find one end and it’s parallel before bringing it up, slowing it’s ascent to a stop before the towel can block his view of Steve’s face, waiting. James angles his head to the right, left wing rising slightly with it in question.

Steve stares at him for a long moment, expression frozen somewhere between shock and confusion before his wings give a gentle shake with the rest of him and he slowly bends his head down. He’s only a couple of inches taller than James. It makes this easier.

He brings the towel up and lays it over Steve’s head, releasing the corners and bringing his hands up to rub it in gentle but efficient motions, soaking up the extra water in Steve’s hair. Steve’s wings are still at his back and he doesn’t move.

Steve is a capable fighter, but this level of vulnerability makes James uncomfortable. Strangely, not for himself, but for Steve. There’s too much trust in allowing him to do this. Steve shouldn’t show him this much trust, even if his body _does_ house _Bucky_.

James pulls the towel off and Steve raises his head, hair a wild mess, but no longer dripping down his face. James inspects him for a moment before reaching up with a hand, towel over it, and Steve leans back a little again, eyes widening slightly and wings flaring out a bit. “What are you doing?” he asks.

James lowers his hand, looking between it and Steve’s face once before his eyes settle on Steve’s. “You’re still wet,” he answers, and even _he_ can hear the small hint of sarcasm in his own tone. But it doesn’t feel like Bucky. It feels like _him_.

Steve’s eyebrows rise - probably noticing it too - wings shifting up slightly with them. “I...Yeah. Again. I mean-” Steve stumbles slightly, “I _am_. But you don’t have to do this.”

James stares at him for a moment.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Steve’s wings flare out a little more and James hears his breath stutter slightly, but when he reaches up again a moment later, Steve slowly lowers his head, closing his eyes to let James dry off his face with careful but still efficient fingers.

He draws the towel slowly down the slope of Steve’s nose, reaching up with his free hand while Steve’s eyes are closed to trace the bridge of his own, comparing the measurements out of curiosity. Steve’s wings slowly relax as James brushes the towel across his forehead and down the right side of his face, breathing easing into something less...uncertain and more calm.

When he brings the towel down passed Steve’s jaw and to the side of his neck, Steve’s eyes blink open slowly before widening, quickly standing back up straight while a hand darts up to halt James’ hand with a grip on his wrist.

James’ eyes snap up from Steve’s neck to his face, body and wings tensing, but he manages to keep himself from automatically breaking Steve’s wrist.

Steve’s own wings stiffen and he slowly loosens his grip before letting go altogether, moving slow and obvious for him. “I can do that part,” Steve says, voice a little tight.

James offers him the towel and Steve takes it with a quiet, “Thank you,” and they stare at each other for another moment until Steve walks around him and James turns to watch him go once he’s passed, eyes drawn to his large, painted wings.

The white stands out, even in the dark, made brighter by the occasional flash of lightning, and James finds himself missing the hulking black shadows they were when he first saw them in this room.

He goes back to the tv and turns it on, finally allowing himself to turn the volume up. The headphones and music block out the sounds of wet clothes being discarded on the floor down the hall.

\--

“I have to go in today,” Steve says the next morning, taking a sip of his coffee, “Fury wants me in every day for the next week. I should only be a few hours though. He’s also probably still trying to test you. Do you want me to bring home anything?”

James’ wings want to give a twitch at the word ‘home’ but he keeps them still, half turned where he’s sitting on the floor to look at Steve over the couch, headphones down around his neck. “I saw an advertisement for something called ‘ _Swiss Miss_ ’,” he says quietly.

Steve stares at him for a moment, coffee cup poised on his lower lip and mouth open to take a sip. He takes the drink before asking, “Like the hot chocolate?”

James nods his head once, watching him, waiting for the moment that Steve will say _no_. Everyone he’s known has said ‘no’ to him at some point. Even Steve will, eventually, he knows. He’s just not sure yet with what.

But this isn’t that time, and Steve’s eyebrows rise on his forehead, expression going amused. He turns back for the kitchen, taking another sip of coffee before James hears him mumble, “What is it with you two and _chocolate?_ "

“I remember,” James says, and it’s still quiet, like he usually is, but he makes sure it’s just loud enough for Steve’s ears to pick up and Steve stops, wings going still, half turning back towards him.

“I remember a chocolate cake,” James continues, “It had one candle.”

“My thirteenth birthday,” Steve says quietly, fully turning to him, eyes shifting to some point across the room and going unfocused in memory, “Bucky’s ma couldn’t find any more. It was the last one. I didn’t mind. I was just grateful that she made me _anything_ -” His eyes clear and he shifts them back to James, wings shifting once at his back. “You remember that?”

“Only the cake and candle,” James replies, “It is not my memory.”

Steve’s wings droop a bit and his mouth pinches slightly. James tenses a little and finds himself saying, “But I almost remember the taste of chocolate. I know _he_ liked it. I think I would like it, too.” He doesn’t like that look on Steve’s face.

He’s not sure when that started to matter to him.

Steve’s mouth eases out of its tense line and his lips curve up, wings shaking out once at his back. James relaxes again.

“Do you want to try making a cake?” Steve asks, smile faltering briefly before he says, “We don’t have to. That might be- Nevermind. Maybe brownies instead?”

James’ eyes drop to the floor in thought, one wing rising slightly in place of his head tilting. He looks back up. “I have not had brownies before. Are they like cake?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow as his own expression goes thoughtful, glancing up instead of down like James does. “Kind of,” he says before looking back to him, “But they’re thicker. More rich.”

James’ wings jump up slightly. “I want to try them.”

Steve’s lips curve up a little further this time when he smiles and James finds his own lips twitching up a little in response.

Steve nods before finishing his coffee, turning back towards the kitchen to rinse his cup out in the sink and put it in the dishwasher. “Brownies it is then.”

\--

“Again,” Steve orders. Rumlow comes at him, dark brown wings cutting a sharp image against the white of the background of the training room’s wall. He fights efficiently, but there’s an eagerness to his moves that makes him both easier and harder for Steve to read. Easier, because eagerness makes him easier to predict. Harder, because it’s not _always_ predictable, like the erraticness of a child.

He has a brief thought of James - of his slow but sure replies, of his wonder at being given things - and it’s almost enough for Rumlow to land a hit.

Steve jerks out of his thoughts and side sweeps Rumlow’s punch, blocking dark wings with his own white ones while aiming a punch for Rumlow’s abdomen.

\--

“How are they doing?” Fury asks after their training session, looking up at him.

“Fine,” Steve replies, hands loose at his sides but standing tall in front of the desk. Ingrained, old habit.

“Think any of them will land a hit soon?”

Steve frowns a little, thinking it over. “Maybe.”

Fury nods and looks back down to his paperwork, and Steve takes the dismissal, leaving Fury to his work and heading for the elevator.

Natasha steps in when it stops on the fiftieth floor, lips curving up when she sees him.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she says, teasing there in her tone. Steve’s glad to see her. She’s been one of his few constants since soon after he was brought to DC, and he’s been so occupied with Bucky and James that he hasn’t noticed the gape inside from her absence until now.

She presses a button for a floor level before coming to a stop in front of him, elevator doors sliding closed behind her.

“Sorry,” he replies jokingly light, but he knows _she_ knows he means it. Her lips curve up a little more into something more real before her expression sobers.

“How is he?” she asks, wings shifting in position just slightly behind her.

Steve smiles and it’s only a little strained. “Adjusting,” he answers. She quirks a brow. “It’s...He’s better though. I think.”

“Which one?” she asks, arms crossing over her chest and eyebrow angling up.

Steve’s cheeks heat a little, phantom sensation of a towel on his hair and face, a gentle finger down the bridge of his nose, and Natasha’s eyebrow climbs a little farther at whatever she sees on his face. He tries to force the flush down.

“Both.” It comes out steady. At least that’s _one_ less thing for her to tease him about.

She makes a quiet sound, not quite agreement, not quite disagreement, before the elevator slows to a stop and she gets out on her floor. “See you later, Rogers,” she says, half turned towards him with a small smile on her lips. “Be careful,” she adds seriously.

Steve nods, giving her a smile in return before the doors slide closed and the elevator starts moving again. He wonders if she got on just to see him, then wonders if she did, if it was more because she wanted to see him or ask about James. He knows she cares (about him and about James) but he still doesn’t know how she and James are connected. He’s wanted to ask - _either_ of them - but he still doesn’t know if he should.

\--

The apartment door closes behind him with a _click_ and Steve kicks off his boots, eyes scanning the room when he comes out of the hall and sets his keys and grocery bags on the table before pulling his coat off, too.

There’s no sight of Bucky _or_ James, and like all the times before it, Steve’s heart lodges up somewhere in his throat.

He’s kept himself calm about it, got his breathing and heart rate under control before he entered the apartment, but it’s hard. And every time he comes back to an empty living room, kitchen, and entertainment room he gets worried. Worried that they’re both gone, either by one’s choice, the others’, or both. That he’ll come back to his apartment to find it wrecked _and_ James and Bucky gone, Hydra finding them, Lukin. He wants to be able to leave Bucky or James at the apartment alone without worrying. He wants them to be able to go _out_ on their own without worrying. But he doesn’t know if it’s actually a good idea yet, and he’s not sure how to tell when it will be, if it _ever_ will be with Hydra and Lukin still out there. But he doesn’t want them to have to live like that, locked away in isolation. They deserve to see the world without a sniper rifle on their back.

Steve carries his coat with him as he heads down the opposite hall, keeping his steps light. He looks to the right when he comes to a stop at the end of it. Their door is closed, but if Steve listens closely enough he can hear quiet talking coming from inside.

The breath he lets out is quiet, quiet enough that it shouldn’t disturb whichever one of them is currently talking to the therapist, and he turns left to head into his own room, doing his best not to eavesdrop.

He sets his coat down quietly on the floor in the corner before heading back out to the kitchen to put away the brownie ingredients and make dinner.

\--

Bucky emerges an hour later, lines of his body showing his emotional exhaustion in a way Steve is all too familiar with.

“Rough session?” Steve asks from where he’s reclined against the arm of the couch, book in hand.

“Something like that,” Bucky half mumbles back, hair pulled back in a small bun, black, long sleeved shirt hiding his arm, his scars. He wears it a lot, has started wearing his hair back more, too, but hasn’t actually cut it. Steve wonders if James would object. He’s not sure he can see James with short hair. Bucky, sure, but James?

“There’s spaghetti on the counter,” Steve says after a moment. Bucky swivels slightly towards it, expression shifting from one of tired surprise to a slow smile. Seeing it makes Steve’s lips curve up, too.

Bucky heads over to it, pulling the lid off while reaching up to a top cupboard with his left hand to grab a plate.

“It’s been sitting for an hour. You’ll have to reheat it,” Steve adds a little apologetically.

“That’s fine,” he hears Bucky reply lightly, smiling at Steve over his shoulder before plating some and putting the lid back on the pot, sticking it in the microwave and setting it. Steve goes back to his book, listening to him shuffle around in the kitchen and the microwave on.

“What kind of sauce is this?”

Steve looks back up over the back of the couch, letting the back of the book drop down to his lap. “Just regular. Came from a can though,” Steve replies, catching Bucky’s grimace just before the microwave beeps and he walks over to pull his plate out, closing the microwave door before going back over and eyeing the sauce. “It’s not _awful_ ,” Steve teases.

Bucky darts him a look but eventually pulls the lid off of the sauce on the burner next to the spaghetti, leaning over it to take a whiff. His feathers twitch a little before he dips a finger in the sauce and slips it into his mouth, pulling it out with a _suck-pop_ sound. Bucky’s wings shoot out and his feathers flare.

Steve laughs a little, then raises an eyebrow when Bucky picks up the pan by the handle and dumps half of the sauce onto his spaghetti. “Geeze, Buck. Slow down,” he jokes.

Bucky sets the pan back on the stove and replaces the lid, digging a fork out of a nearby drawer before walking over and around to the front of the couch, taking a seat after Steve pulls his legs in.

He twirls his fork in the side of the spaghetti, shoveling a big chunk of wound noodles into his mouth while closing his eyes with a moan, getting sauce on his face.

Steve’s wings stiffen a little, the phantom towel texture in his hair and on his nose again before he shakes his head a little and quickly forces himself to relax, just managing to keep a blush off of his face. “Good?” he asks, voice coming out steady.

Bucky looks over at him, shoveling more into his mouth, cheeks puffing out a little and sauce getting all around his lips and chin instead of answering. Steve makes a face. “When did you get to be such a slob?”

Bucky stares at him for a moment, swallowing his mouthful before planting his fork determinedly into the middle of his spaghetti and twirling it.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve warns gravely.

Bucky twirls the fork three more times before lifting up half of the spaghetti on his plate and shoving it ( _or **trying** to_ ) into his mouth, closing his eyes with obscene noises while he chews, cheeks puffed out. He opens them back up after he swallows, shoving in the rest of the noodles dangling on the fork that didn’t fit into his mouth and grinning at the look on Steve’s face, noodles, sauce, and all.

Steve makes a disgusted noise, shoving at Bucky’s leg with his feet. “You’re _disgusting_.”

Bucky slurps up a stray noodle, sauce flicking up onto his nose and more getting on his chin. “Your _face_ is disgusting.

Steve’s expression flattens before he kicks Bucky again, harder. “ _Your_ face is disgusting.”

Bucky lets out a laugh, moving his right wing to shove the feathers into Steve’s face.

Steve lets out a surprised sound, hands jumping up from his book to the feathers, trying to block and shove them out of his face. The wing presses in again and Steve squirms a little before sitting up to shove his _own_ right wing into _Bucky’s_ face.

Bucky makes a disgruntled sound, lifting his plate and fork quickly over his head and out of the way. “I’m tryin’ to _eat_ , Steve! You get this sauce on your feathers, I’m gonna eat them too!”

Steve shoves his wing further into Bucky’s face and snorts when Bucky lets out a squawk, tipping back a bit.

Bucky’s left wing flares out where Steve’s got it shoved to the side and he bites down on Steve’s feathers, tugging with his teeth. Steve lets out his own squawk, jerking it back, even though Bucky was careful not to bite too hard.

Steve jerks his other wing back and Bucky smirks, slowly retracting his own. “I _warned_ ya’.”

Steve frowns at him in between checking over his feathers, but his lips are twitching up.

Bucky’s smirk turns into a grin and Steve finally lets out a laugh, wiping some of the sauce on his feathers off and sucking it off of his finger. “It’s really not that bad.”

Bucky snorts, looking down at his plate while twirling up some more noodles. “ _For a can_ ,” he says through another mouthful, smirking over at Steve.

Steve rolls his eyes. “ _For a can_ ,” he agrees, sarcastically.

\--

 

_“Hey, Steve. You planning on actually putting the spaghetti in the pot?”_

_He turns the newspaper page and the paper crinkling quietly gently clashes with the sound of boiling water coming from the room behind him, sun setting out the window at his right, gold painting the room. He heard Steve open the box, but hasn’t actually heard the spaghetti make it into the pot yet._

_“I’m workin’ on it,” Steve calls back, then, “ **Quit smirkin’!** ”_

_“You can’t even see me!” But he **is** smirking and he knows Steve knows it._

_“I don’t **have** to!”_

_Steve comes to the doorway at his back left a moment later, spaghetti box opened and rattling a little with his movement in one hand and some uncooked spaghetti noodles gripped in the other, black wings flared a little indignantly. Bucky tries to straighten his face but Steve raises an eyebrow at him and Bucky grins._

_“M’just gettin’ hungry is all,” Bucky says back, leaning back in the chair in front of their small table that always seem to be on its last leg._

_Steve’s face schools and he turns back towards the kitchen, wings giving a small jerk. “I’m **workin’ on it, Mr. Barnes**.”_

_“And **I appreciate it, Mr. Rogers** ,” Bucky fires back, grinning at the doorway._

_He hears a snort and then noodles dropping into the water with a **splash** , the puddles of red beneath his feet reflecting the minimal lighting from the swaying overhead lamp, boots a heavy quiet in the silence._

_The bodies on the floor have faces he can’t place, brief glimpses of blue and blonde that make his wings give an aborted twitch. He comes to a stop in front of his handler and forces them still._

_“ **Report**.”_

 

James jerks awake, eyes snapping open, dark ceiling above him and breath coming in and out like he’s just run an endurance test.

He pushes himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to sit on the edge, back bowing and head hanging slightly, trying to force his breaths to slow. He pushes himself up, unclasping the long sleeved shirt sticking uncomfortably to the light sweat on his skin as he does, folding it and walking over to set it in the laundry basket in the corner Steve got for them.

He heads to the door and opens it quietly, walking out and pausing in front of Steve’s cracked open one. James can hear his breaths, his feathers ruffling quietly against the sheets when he shifts. If he leans close enough, he can just barely catch a glimpse of Steve’s legs under the bedding.

He stares at them for a moment before leaning back, turning left to move silently down the hall, heading for the kitchen.

Bucky had brushed his teeth, he could tell from the hint of toothpaste he’d tasted when he’d become aware, but now all he can taste is the spaghetti he didn’t eat and feel newspaper under his fingers.

He takes a seat at the table, overheated skin slowly cooling as he sits in the dark, the silence almost oppressive and full of the things he never says, his roaming thoughts, a mountain of words.

He keeps his eyes off of the floor, lets them unfocus on the tabletop and chooses to ignore the red that isn’t really in his periphery, chooses instead to focus on the remembered sound of crinkling newspaper and uncooked spaghetti noodles shifting in a box.

Was that what it was like for them? For Steve? For Bucky? No more care than making dinner. No more worries than food and heartache.

The backs of his eyes sting and he closes them.

There’s a quiet click a few moments later and he opens them again, turning his head a little to look to the left. The doorknob of the front door down the hall is twisting just slightly with more quiet clicks, jiggling this way and that. James rises silently from the table, walking to the edge of the hall on barefeet, sweatpants dragging slightly on the floor. He presses his back to the left wall of the hall, arm whirring quietly as the panels adjust.

He peers around the corner. The door pops open.

Whoever it is pushes the door open slowly, quietly, careful not to disturb the residents of the apartment. Bucky told him he found the person who’s been bugging the apartment, but he wouldn’t tell him who it was.

The light from the outside hall spills briefly inside in a slowly widening streak before the silhouette pushes the door nearly closed and James pulls back, removing himself from any line of sight. He waits until he sees the edge of a wing appear out of the hall before moving, grabbing the wing with his left hand and yanking them out from the hall fully into the room.

The intruder lets out a surprised sound as they stumble into the table, quickly whipping around with a flung out wing and a kick.

James blocks them both with his own, bringing his foot down. They just barely dodge him breaking their kneecap and manage to get him in the face with their other wing before he charges in and blocks a second sweep with his own, getting his left hand around their narrow throat and forcing them back. They let out another sound when their lower back slams into the table and James forces them back onto it, blocking their thrashing wings with his own.

He gets a few seconds to make out that it’s a woman before the lights are flicked on and they both look up, briefly blinded until both their eyes adjust. 

Steve’s standing just inside the room on the opposite side, hair mussed in sweatpants and a tshirt, wings going from a defensive flare to one of surprise. “James? _Kate? What’s going on?_ ” James looks back down.

She has gold wings and hair, dressed in jeans and a top. His eyes scan lower and he reaches down with his right hand, mindful of her squirming and tightening his grip as he digs something out of her pocket.

He pulls it out, holding it up for Steve to see. “It’s her,” he states lowly, a small black listening bug between his fingers.

“Steve,” the woman says, end of it choked out when James tightens his grip. “Bucky,” she says next, quietly, eyes jumping to him.

Something swift and angry rises in his chest and he snarls out, “ _No._ ”

Her eyes widen again and her wings flare as much as they can against the table when his grip tightens further, struggling for breath.

“ _James_ ,” Steve says urgently, coming forward.

James releases his grip on her throat, taking a few steps back when Steve gets close. He can feel Steve looking at him for a long moment but forces his eyes to stay on the woman, wings tense behind him.

She pushes herself up off of the table with a hand, leaning on it, right hand coming up to rub at her throat while she takes a few grateful breaths.

“Look, I’m sorry,” she starts, raising her hand in complacency. Her eyes dart over the scars on his torso and right arm, slowly widening as they make their way to his left before snapping back up to his face and then shifting quickly to Steve. “I was just-”

“ _S.H.I.E.L.D. agent_ ,” James cuts her off roughly with a quiet growl, wings rising at his back.

Her wings spread again before she tries to compose herself, going quiet. He can see the uncertainty in her eyes, calculation. It reminds him a little of Natalia, and that just makes him angrier.

“You will stop planting the bugs,” he orders, eyes focused on her.

“I can’t do that,” she replies, standing up, hands going deceptively loose at her sides, ready for a fight. Steve stills a few feet away.

“So it is you,” Steve says quietly. James darts a glance over to see him staring at her, expression shuttering. He’s tried to warn Steve against trusting him, _trusting_ at all, but seeing it from the outside, for someone else, he finds he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the closed off look on Steve’s face, in his eyes, the sunlight gone away. It leaves him feeling cold all over again. He looks back at the woman when she talks.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I have my orders,” she replies, quieter, expression a little apologetic. But she’s a soldier, and she has a job to do. He doesn’t like that _Steve_ is a _job_ , even if he was once _James'_.

“To watch us,” Steve states, hands forming fists at his sides even though his voice lacks inflection.

“To _protect you_ and monitor,” she clarifies.

She sounds like she’s telling the truth, but that only means that she believes what she’s saying, not that it’s the truth that he accepts. He’s familiar with that, too.

“Even if you know who I am now, either another will come or I will be ordered to remain and continue doing the same job,” she finishes.

James angles his head just slightly. “And if I kill you?” he asks quieter. Steve’s eyes snap to him.

“ _James_ ,” he says, warning in his voice.

Her body and wings stiffen for a moment before she goes relaxed again. “Then you’ll be taken in.”

“Kate-” Steve starts.

His eyes narrow again, calculating. “You know who I am,” he says, cutting Steve off. She hesitates just slightly before she opens her mouth, so he cuts her off as well. “You don’t.”

Her mouth closes, flattening into a brief line. “It’s not part of my mission parameters,” she finally answers. Which means she doesn’t have the clearance level, even though she’s been assigned to _protect_ and _monitor Captain America_. Steve. James understands that. _The Winter Soldier_ understands that. But now-

He unangles his head, staring at her. Orders are not all that matters, not anymore.

Her wings shift slightly in unease behind her at the look, but she keeps her gaze on him. It’s either bravery or stubbornness, he doesn’t know which. But in the end, it never matters. They all become puddles of red on the floor.

“Your name’s not really 'Kate', is it,” Steve says more than asks, breaking their tense silence.

Kate looks away first, to Steve, shaking her head a little. “No. It’s not. I’m Agent 13.”

“That’s not a very flattering name,” Steve says. It sounds like it would be a joke, if Steve were any form of amused. James can tell he’s unsettled. His wings are trembling minutely, not enough for her to see, but it’s enough for him. He’s more shaken than he looks.

Kate’s mouth flattens again, but she doesn’t correct him.

“Fury sent you?” Steve asks after another moment. _Agent 13_ glances in James’ direction then back to Steve before letting out a quiet sigh. That answers just as well as her words could.

“So everything…” Steve trails off, and James’ eyes dart to him again. His wings are trembling a little more and the mask he’s wearing cracks for a second before Steve clenches his jaw and holds his hand out in James direction, not looking at him.

James drops the bug in Steve’s hand without a word and Steve offers it over to Kate, whose mouth opens for a moment before she closes it again, looking down at the bug when she takes it.

“Steve I- It wasn’t-” she tries, looking back up at him.

“Please leave,” Steve says, quiet but firm, eyes on some point to the right of her shoulder.

She hesitates, not moving for a long moment before finally turning and quietly making her way out of the apartment, closing the door softly behind her.

Steve doesn’t move for a minute and James keeps himself still, anger in his chest.

Steve eventually walks to the door, calmly, locking it before walking back across the room and down the other hall into his bedroom, wings still and steps quiet.

James stands there for a few minutes, anger spiking and unsure of what he should do.

He’s not sure if he should follow, not sure if he should go back to his own room and wait, let _Bucky_ handle this.

Finally, he turns right to make his way down the hall, slowing his approach when he nears Steve’s open door. He glances in to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, wings and back to him, shaking gently.

He stands there for a long moment, indecisive again, eyebrows pulling together and fingers curling into fists at his sides before he lets out a near silent, frustrated breath, forcing his hands to go loose and stepping inside.

Steve stiffens when he comes to a stop a couple feet from his side, eyes on the floor. James waits silently for a few minutes and slowly Steve starts shaking again, eyes going a little shinier in the small amount of light of the room.

Steve catches his lower lip between his teeth and James ignores the instinct to leave, instead taking a few steps closer and carefully sitting down on the bed to Steve’s left.

The shaking doesn’t get better or worse until James haltingly reaches his right hand up, setting it on Steve’s shoulder gently. Steve crumbles forward, letting out a loud sob that’s mostly choked off sound and breath that makes James’ chest clench, Steve’s hands coming up to cover his face.

James’ wings shift uncertainly at his back, not sure what to do until he thinks of a small, red haired child and shifts on the bed, curling one leg up as he turns towards Steve and keeping the other on the floor. He’s not sure if Steve will comply, but James tries pulling him in gently in an easily escapable nudge and Steve lets him, turning himself towards James and shoving his face into the side of his neck, arms coming up to wrap around his waist.

James freezes, and for a terrifying moment Steve does too, but then his own arms are coming up to carefully, hesitantly wrap around Steve and Steve lets out a harsh breath against him, tears falling and pressed into James’ skin.

He brings his wings around after a minute, Steve’s lowering when they brush, and he wraps them around Steve like a cocoon, a shield, feathers soft. And it’s strange, that a weapon that kills can be soft and offer comfort, can offer shelter when he’s only known it very few times himself. He’s not entirely sure how it works, just that Steve needs it now and he wants to try giving it to him. That some part of him ( _who **isn’t** Bucky_ ) _needs_ to give it to him.

He’s sure his arm is cold against Steve’s skin and through his shirt, is sure his hold isn’t as comfortable as _Bucky’s_ have been, but Steve doesn’t complain or say a word, just shifts closer and wraps his arms tighter around James’ waist, letting out his pain and frustration into his skin.

James’ anger both spikes and fades, and he finds that he is glad this moment belongs to him and Steve alone, and no one else.


	12. You're telling me the secrets that you just can't hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting way too domestic omg. I'm throwing wrenches in soon just you wait.

Bucky pads out from his bedroom to find Steve leaning against the kitchen counter, back bowed a little and staring into space with a coffee cup cradled between both hands, steam gently wafting up in front of his face. Bucky’s eyes shift to the table, wings stiffening when he finds it moved forward, askew. He looks back to Steve. “What happened.”

Steve jerks slightly and looks up, a little wide-eyed, blinking a few times before he follows Bucky’s gaze when Bucky looks to the table, both of them looking back to each other.

“Kate’s- _Agent 13_ works for Fury and has been bugging the apartment,” Steve answers after a moment, voice quiet.

Bucky shifts slightly, glancing at the table then looking back. Steve frowns.

“Did you know?” Steve asks, standing up straighter with eyes on him.

“I- Yeah. I caught her trying to break in the other day,” Bucky answers a little quieter, wings shifting a little uneasily when Steve’s expression goes angry and his wings tense.

“And you didn’t _tell me?_ ” Steve demands, voice rising a little and wings flaring out, eyes widening briefly before he adds, “Did _James_ know?”

Bucky blinks, shakes his head. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” he starts, “And no. He didn’t. I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want him going out and _killing_ anyone. _Why?_ ”

Steve’s eyes drop to his cup, wings mostly lowering to his back. “Nothing,” Steve answers quietly after a moment, standing up away from the counter to walk over and dump out the rest of his coffee into the sink, rinsing the cup out before putting it in the dishwasher.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, “Did he do something?”

Steve doesn’t look at him, but his wings shift a little. “No, not really,” Steve half mumbles in reply.

Bucky frowns, gesturing to the table when Steve finally looks back to him.

“No, that-” Steve cuts off, looking at the table before looking at Bucky. “She tried breaking in last night, and I guess James caught her doing it.”

Bucky’s wings flare up. “Did he kill her?”

“What? No!” Steve lets out a frustrated sound. “Quit jumping to that conclusion,” he says a little angrily, pushing passed him. Bucky blinks, brow furrowing briefly as he turns to watch him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Steve stops at the hall, turning around. “Steve, I’m sorry. It’s just-” he lets out a huff of air, pushing the loose strands of bangs that have slipped from his messy ponytail back from his face with a hand, “I know he hasn’t done anything, yet,” he adds a little quieter. Steve frowns again. “No, stop. I _know_ that,” Bucky says at the look, “But it’s...the things I have in my head, from his side, from _The Winter Soldier_...I know you’ve read the file, but I also know it’s not all in there, especially not...The file is just the facts they could find, Steve. You don’t actually _see_ it, _everything_ about the kills. And there’s _a lot_ of them.”

Bucky swallows and Steve’s wings stiffen briefly before sagging a little, expression gentling. “I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve says, quieter, “I know it’s...I know you’ve got some of that in your head, too. That this can’t be easy for you. But if you could spend _time_ with him-” Steve cuts off, glancing to the side for a moment before looking back. “I know you don’t trust him, but he’s...I’m not saying that side of him isn’t still in there. In _either_ of you,” he adds a little softer, and Bucky’s fists clench a little at his sides, “But that’s not _all_ he is. Just like it’s not all _you_ are.

Bucky drops his eyes to the floor, wings tensing at his back. He looks up again when Steve starts talking again.

“He loves music, Buck,” Steve says, “And he wants to try making _brownies_.” Steve smiles and Bucky’s wings shift, fingers loosening a little. “There’s things in all of us, even me, but...If that’s all we judged someone on, where does that leave anyone?”

Bucky’s wings give an aborted jerk and he drops his eyes back to the floor, thinking. It’s true that he doesn’t...really _know_ James. It’s hard to get to know someone when you can only leave them messages and try to put them in a spot that gives them little choice but to read them. And maybe he _has_ been hard on him, but…

“He tried to _kill_ you, Steve,” Bucky says firmly, looking back up at him sternly.

Steve smiles a little again, and it’s frustrating. Bucky frowns.

“Yes, he did,” Steve agrees quietly, expression pinching when he adds, gentler, “But...you kind of did _too_ , Buck.”

Bucky’s wings flare out and his eyes widen, heart clenching in his chest. He takes a step forward. “Steve, I-”

“No,” Steve shakes his head, stopping him before he can start, smiling a little again even though his expression is still a little pinched. “I don’t hold it against you, Buck. How can I hold anything that’s been done to you, that you were _made_ to do, against you?”

Bucky looks at the floor again, trying to get his breathing under control.

“But I can’t hold it against _him_ , either,” Steve continues, walking close enough for his toes to appear in Bucky’s periphery.

Steve sets his hand on Bucky’s left shoulder and grips it gently, between his neck and the metal. It hurts him somewhere down inside that Steve can touch him like he does without cringing, without making a face or even looking away. That he doesn’t shy away from the metal that Bucky’s left arm is now, even knowing some of what he’s done with it, covered in a red star and the offense version of Steve’s shield. Its opposite, in nearly every way. Just like Bucky.

“I have to go train that team at S.H.I.E.L.D.” Steve says after a minute, gently letting go. Bucky looks back up. “Think about what I said? Maybe try to give James a chance?” Steve asks, hopefully. Bucky nods after a long moment, once, and Steve smiles.

He watches Steve walk down the hall, back and wings receding before he turns left into his room, leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts.

He turns back around and fixes the table.

\--

Rumlow finally lands a hit. Three out of five of them do. It doesn’t really hurt, but it does knock the breath out of him. They’ve progressed well over the course of a week. They were already well trained before, Steve just made them...deadlier. More adept. He’s not sure how to feel about that, but...as long as it keeps them alive where they get sent.

“It was nice training with you,” Steve says after, offering a smile, covered in a light sweat. In comparison, the team is practically drowning in it.

Rumlow looks up and grins back from where he’s bent over with his hands on his knees, breath coming hard. “You too,” he manages, standing up with a deep inhale and exhale, offering his hand. “Maybe we’ll get to work together soon.”

“Maybe,” Steve returns, even though he doubts it. Bucky and James are his top priority, and that’s still looking like a long road. He might be able to do some short term missions, but he’s not sure he should leave Bucky and James alone for days on end. Not yet.

He shakes Rumlow’s hand and some of the others before the team starts heading off, but Rumlow stops and turns around. Steve inclines his head a little in question, hands resting on his hips.

“The guys and I were thinking of going for drinks,” Rumlow starts, cocking his head to the side slightly in invitation, “You’re welcome to join in. You beat us into the ground, that practically makes you part of the team,” he adds with a smirk.

Steve smiles before shaking his head. “Can’t. I have somewhere I have to be,” he replies, “Thank you, though. I mean it.”

Rumlow nods. “See you later, Cap,” he says, turning back around to head after the others, waving a hand over his shoulder.

Steve heads for the other locker room to change, trying to settle down rising memories of the Howling Commandos in a bar that got blown out. Of Bucky drinking alone and Peggy in a red dress. It’s still hard, but not as hard as it was a few weeks ago.

When he gets back to the apartment, James - or Bucky - is sitting on the couch, laptop open in his lap and eyes intent on the screen. Steve drops off his keys on the table and walks over, carefully leaning over him from behind over the back of the couch - in case it _is_ James - to find he’s got the webcam app open.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks. He doesn’t get an immediate reply, and his hair is down which means it’s most likely James. Bucky more and more often tends to wear it back and out of his face, now. Steve’s half expecting him to cut it. He wonders how James would handle that.

“Changing my icon,” James answers, quiet and unexpectedly grave considering the words. Steve can see his intent expression reflected back from the application on the laptop, along with three other ‘settings’ windows open. His lips twitch up and James’ eyes dart to it in the screen, head turning a little and angling back so he can look up at Steve. “Do _you_ know how to change it?” he asks, frowning a little.

That’s another thing. James has grown more... _expressive_. He’s adopted a little of Bucky’s sarcasm ( _or maybe formed his own_ ) and his expressions are slowly becoming a little more diverse. He’s not nearly as easy to read as Bucky, but he’s _changing_.

“I might,” Steve teases a little. James’ eyes narrow at him slightly.

“That is not yes or no,” James states.

“Nope, it isn’t,” Steve replies back lightly, lips twitching up again.

James’ eyes narrow a little more before he huffs out a small, quiet breath and drops his head back down, looking back at the screen.

Steve waits a minute, watching James click around and change the options and settings on both the Skype and application, seemingly making it more complicated than it actually is, before Steve asks, “Would you like some help?”

James pauses, tilting his head back to look up at Steve again, expression a little frustrated. “ _Yes_ ,” he says quietly, earnestly desperate, if only a little.

Steve manages to keep from laughing but his lips curve up more, and James’ lips curve down slightly in a small frown in response.

Steve climbs over the couch, taking a seat on James’ right and being careful not to step or sit on the feathers James shifts out of his way in the process. James is getting better with not reacting ( _in a life threatening way_ ) to faster movements, too, but Steve still keeps his mostly sedate around him.

He leans in close to see the screen, left shoulder bumping James’ right. This is the closest they’ve been since the other night.

He can feel James’ eyes on the side of his face but keeps his own eyes on the screen.

“Undo all of the settings you changed first,” Steve instructs, knowing he can do it and waiting for James to finish before reaching forward after, fingers lighting on the touch screen. James shifts his hand out of the way. “You can take an immediate picture or set a short timer. Which do you want to do?” Steve asks, looking over at him.

James frowns down slightly at the laptop screen, eyebrows pulling together as he thinks. “What is the purpose of the timer?” he asks, looking over at Steve.

“To take posed photos, I suppose,” Steve replies with a small shrug, looking at the screen, “They had these photo booths near the diners couples would take a few pictures in together in all sorts of poses. Friends did it too, but couples were more popular.” Steve looks back over to see James’ expression’s gone contemplative, staring at him. The back of Steve’s neck heats a little and he looks back to the screen. “I guess this is the more portable, digital version of that,” he adds, “So, which one do you want?” He glances over again but James is staring back at the screen. Steve almost feels a little disappointed.

It takes a moment for James to decide, but he doesn’t mind waiting. He’s not sure what goes on inside James’ head ( _isn’t sure what goes on inside Bucky’s, either_ ), if he’s just not used to having these kinds of options, not used to even _thinking_ about these sorts of things, or if it’s just so crowded up there between _James_ and _Bucky_ that it takes a minute to sort through everything and come to a decision. Steve doesn’t want to rush him, whatever it is. He’s had enough people doing that to him.

Besides, it’s just another way that James is _different_ from Bucky. His own person.

The expression on James’ face turns decisive and he looks over at Steve. “Immediate.”

“Alright,” Steve replies with an easy smile, showing him where the setting is and what button to click to take the picture. “I’m going to get started on dinner,” Steve announces after, rising from the couch. Their feathers brush lightly when he does. “Do you want anything in particular?” he asks, looking back down to him.

James looks up, starts shaking his head a little before pausing, eyes darting down and eyebrows pulling together in brief concentration before he looks back up. “Do we have...chicken?” he asks quietly, expression faintly hopeful. Steve notices the ‘we’, and he’s glad James is getting more used to asking for things.

“We do,” Steve smiles, “Do you want anything to go with it?”

James shakes his head a little. “Whatever you want,” he says quietly, wings shifting slightly in what might be uncertainty.

Steve smiles again and nods, walking around the couch and taking his coat off while heading to the kitchen, dropping it off on the table as he goes.

There’s the sound of a digital camera _click_.

\--

“Do you want to go for a fly?”

Bucky lifts his head up from where he’s laying on his stomach in bed, turning it to squint over at Steve, who’s got a hand braced on the doorway and is in his workout sweats and tshirt, leaning into the room with his wings jittering this way and that behind him, before turning it the other way to squint at the blinds. He shoves his face back into his pillow with a groan. “ _The sun’s not even **up** yet_ ,” he grumbles, but it comes out muffled, so it sounds more like, “ _Thb snb nnb ebn **mp** ybt_.”

He hears Steve laugh and turn to walk down the hall, so maybe he understood him.

Bucky huffs a breath. Steve’d laugh at him even if he _didn’t_ understand him.

There’s the faint sound of the front door opening and closing and he lays there with his face still in his pillow for a few minutes before eventually pushing himself up and almost stumbling in the process of getting off the bed.

He shuffles over to the laptop and turns it on, dropping into the desk chair ungracefully and grabbing the hair tie off the desk, pulling his hair back into a messy bun.

Skype starts up with the computer, and he’s about to close it and go take care of his business before he spots the new icon and freezes, scrambling quickly to open the image and see the bigger version.

When it opens up, he stares at it for a few minutes, critically looking over everything.

James is sitting on the couch, staring straight at the camera, hair down with one eyebrow raised just a little. Steve’s in the back with his back to the camera, in the middle of dropping his coat on the table while heading for the kitchen. Bucky’s eyes linger on him for a moment before drifting back to James, staring for a bit before trying to mimic his expression, trying to...understand him, maybe. Steve wants him to. But it’s...hard. And _strange_. Seeing his body but...not seeing _himself_. He pulls up the webcam application, fiddling with it for a bit until he finally figures out how to take a picture.

The first, experimental few he takes get deleted before he stares at the camera button for a few minutes, almost closing the app three times before finally forcing himself to look straight at the camera, making a face while taking the picture. It’s childish. But it’s either that or he doesn’t do it at all.

\--

When Steve comes back, Bucky’s on the couch with the tv on and a bowl of popcorn sitting on the coffee table, leaning forward with his forearms braced on his knees and eyes focused intently on-

“Is that _Snow White?_ ” Steve asks, surprised and sweaty, hope rising in his still slightly heaving chest. Because the last Disney movie he got to see with Bucky before Bucky left for the war was-

Bucky jolts upright, whipping around on the couch towards Steve with wide eyes, wings flaring out in surprise. He must’ve been so focused on the movie he didn’t even hear Steve come in.

“I-” Bucky pauses, looking back to where the dwarves are singing on the screen for a moment before he looks back at Steve. “We saw this,” he mostly states, but there’s a slight question there, “Before I...Before I left. Before I enlisted.”

Steve swallows, nodding once, taking a few steps closer to the back of the couch. “Yeah,” he says gently, “I really wanted to go see it and you took me. We both had our jaws on the floor after the first ten seconds of it. The animation was so…” Steve trails off, looking for the right word. There’s so many to choose from.

“Swell,” Bucky finishes for him while pulling his wings back in, lips curving up.

Steve smiles back, wings fluttering a little behind him. “Yeah.”

They’re quiet for a few moments, just soaking in the memory, the connection, before Bucky sits up a little straighter. “Do you want to...watch it with me?” he asks, a little hesitantly, like there’s even the possibility of Steve saying _no_.

Steve perks up, wings and all, beaming. “I’d love to, Buck.

Bucky’s smile is slow but stretches wide, before he blinks and it turns into a smirk, eyebrow raising. “Take a shower first,” he says, plugging his nose and waving his other hand while turning his face up, “You _stink_ , Rogers.”

Steve snorts, rolling his eyes and batting at him with a wing over the back of the couch that Bucky blocks with his own while laughing a little.

Bucky turns around to stop the movie and when he looks back he catches the tail end of Steve’s wings as he runs down the hall. “I’ll wait!” Bucky calls out after him.

“ _You better!_ ” he hears Steve yell back, bathroom door slamming shut. Bucky snorts.

Steve comes back out five minutes later, dropping himself next to Bucky ( _not cautiously for a change, Bucky notices_ ) on the couch and reaching for the popcorn bowl, hair wet and clothes sticking to him. Bucky restarts _Snow White_ again while shifting his wing so it’s pressed gently against Steve’s, glancing over to him. “Did you even _dry yourself off?_ ” he teases.

Steve shushes him, popping some popcorn into his mouth with his eyes on the screen. “Don’t interrupt Disney, Buck.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, smiling. “It’s just _the logo_.”

Steve shushes him again, his own lips twitching up into a smile.

Bucky lets out a mock-put upon sigh and leans back against the couch, making himself comfortable. Steve gently nudges Bucky’s wing with his own and Bucky gently nudges his back with a small grin.

\--

Bucky jerks awake in the dark, breath coming fast and covered in sweat, hair a mess in its ponytail and bangs sticking to his face, wings trembling against the bed.

He swings his feet over the side and gets up - sheets kicked down to the end of the bed in his sleep - and heads for the bathroom, exiting his room quietly.

He pauses when the door to the bathroom opens before he gets to it, light spilling out into the hall. He’s about to turn around and head straight back to his room, but then Steve steps out and spots him, eyes widening a little and wings ( _black_ ) flaring out a little in surprise, so Bucky just keeps walking, carefully sliding passed Steve into the bathroom and keeping his eyes straight ahead.

He turns the faucet on and cups his hands under the water, closing his eyes to splash the cold onto his face and rub some of the extra onto the back of his neck, avoiding looking into the mirror. He knows he’s pale and shaky, doesn’t need to see it.

Steve’s still standing there, watching him, he knows he is, can almost hear the questions he wants to ask but doesn’t. He tries to keep this part from Steve, the nightmares, doesn’t want to see Steve’s face crumple or to be coddled. He deserves whatever his mind throws at him. It’s the _least_ he deserves. Steve would disagree, even if he would understand some of it better than most: being haunted by the killing, the death, the guilt. But like Bucky would for him, Steve would try to help Bucky move passed it, and Bucky’s not sure he wants to. Knows he doesn’t _deserve to_.

When he looks over after shutting off the faucet, Steve’s got a hand on the doorframe, gripping it like he’s holding himself back, expression almost pained and wings angled forward towards him. Bucky has the fleeting thought that he should snark about Steve’s wing color - _something_ \- distract him, but it’s lost in his mind going a mile a minute and numb all at once, everything there and gone in a flash, set on loop with his nightmare at the forefront.

Steve looks at him for a few silent moments, doesn’t ask him if he’s okay or what his nightmare was about. Just asks, quietly, “Do you need to talk?”

Bucky looks back at him for a long minute, hands gripping the edge of the sink. He forces himself to let go of it before he cracks it, backing up to take a seat on the edge of the tub. “You’re not gonna like it,” he settles on saying, quiet and exhausted.

Steve comes into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet lid diagonally opposite the bathtub, leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs, and looks at him. “I don’t have to _like_ it, Buck,” he says quietly. Bucky’s eyes shift up to his. “If you need to talk, I’m here. If you don’t need to or _want_ to talk, I’m still here. I’ll always be here.”

Bucky looks him for a moment before huffing out a breath, gripping the edge of the tub next to his thighs and leaning back a little, head tilting back to look up at the ceiling. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he says a little darkly.

Steve doesn’t say anything, and when he looks over Steve’s not frowning, just waiting, patient. Bucky’s mouth twists a little along with something in his chest, back bowing a bit as he leans back forward, eyes dropping to the floor.

“There...it was quiet. Just the sound of my boots,” he starts quietly, after taking a couple of minutes to try and get his thoughts into some order that makes sense when he’s awake, “That quiet that happens after you’ve just finished killing every living thing in the vicinity. Like a tornado wiping out all signs of life. I couldn’t see anything - it was black - but I could hear that, the... _absence_ of things,” he swallows once, “And I got this creeping chill up my spine that should’ve made my hair stand on end, but I was calm. More calm than I can ever remember being.” He glances up, but Steve’s expression is still patient, still listening.

He can’t remember how many people Steve’s had to kill. Can only really recall that he _has_ killed people. In the war. Probably after. He can vaguely recall telling Steve that he didn’t want him learning how to snipe. Steve understands the silence Bucky’s talking about, regardless.

Bucky drops his eyes back to the floor, then darts them up to the cupboard under the sink across from him instead, ignoring the red on the tile in his periphery that he knows isn’t really there. “Then there’s this door. It’s not bright. It was like seeing it barely lit in the dark, even though the room itself stayed black. If it was a room,” he adds in a half mumble, wings shifting slightly, uneasily, once at his back. “So I open the door and there’s nothing there but a bright light spilling out, blinding me for a minute, and I turn around and-” He cuts himself off, biting his lip, breathing picked up a little.

He doesn’t look at Steve, keeps his eyes on the cupboard door, and Steve doesn’t talk, just waits. He’s so patient when he needs to be.

“There were bodies,” Bucky continues, quieter, “But not just...there were _so many bodies_ , Steve. Some of their clothes looked...I think it was everyone I’d ever killed. Or as many of them as I could remember.”

The atmosphere in the bathroom seems to go still, somehow, but Bucky keeps talking.

“One looked like a Hydra goon from the war. Another looked like a senator from a _few years_ ago. But the-” he cuts himself off again, taking a breath to steady himself, voice lowering, “But when I look down, next to my feet is this red gloved hand. And when I follow it...you’re lyin’ there, a _bullet_ between your eyes like all the guys I’m sure I- I can only remember some of them. I can’t remember them all.” He hears Steve’s wings shift slightly, still doesn’t look. “But there’s something dark above your head and I look up, and suddenly _he’s_ there,” Bucky continues, voice dropped to an almost-whisper, “James. Just standin’ there. Starin’ at me. Holding a gun loose in his left hand and your shield in his right. He lifts the gun towards me, slow, gesturin’, and when I look down.. _.I’m_ the one holdin’ them- the gun, your shield. I realize _I’m_ the tornado that killed everything. Killed _you_. And then- I woke up,” he finishes in a whisper, chest so tight he’s not sure he’s breathing right, breaths struggling in and out-

Yeah, he’s not breathing right, and his vision is starting to go black around the edges which just makes him panic _more_ because he doesn’t want to _go back there_ -

He blinks, and knows there’s been at least a minute he can’t remember because there are two warm hands on his shoulders and Steve’s face is a blurred image a foot away from his own, lips moving but sound muffled. It takes a minute for the sound to come all the way back, and when Bucky blinks again, tears slip down his cheeks and Steve’s face clears enough for Bucky to actually _see_ him.

“ _Bucky, can you hear me?_ ” Steve asks, voice quiet but firm, a low string of worry laced underneath.

Bucky nods, breaths still coming fast. He tries to take a few deep ones to get them to slow down but it’s hard, like trying to force a speeding train to the speed of molasses. He has a quick thought that this is what it must have been kind of like for Steve, back when he was small. Bucky doesn’t remember most of it. There’s a memory here, a memory there, but so much of it is just _gone_ -

His breathing picks up again. “Steve-” he chokes out. He doesn’t know when his hands came up to grip Steve’s arms.

“I’m here, Buck,” Steve assures him, gently pulling him forward and moving them both down to the floor, rearranging them so that Steve’s back is to the cupboard doors under the sink and Bucky’s back is pressed to his chest, Steve pulling his knees up to bracket Bucky on either side, left arm around Bucky’s waist and right hand on Bucky’s sternum. “Breathe with me, Buck,” Steve says near his ear, still quiet and firm, “Breathe.”

Bucky forces himself to take an inhale in time with one he feels pressing against his back. It takes a few minutes to get himself synced, longer than the training still in his head from during and _after_ the war agree with, but he does it, breathing in time with Steve, Steve encouraging, “ _You’re doing good, Buck. Just keep breathing_ ,” the whole time. It feels familiar and off, like they’ve done this before but different, but he lets the feeling soak in and seep down instead of pulling at it or fighting it, eyes trained on the white tub across from them. He doesn’t want to close them and see red.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, the only sound is their breathing in the whole bathroom, echoing back gently off of the tile walls. He brings his right hand up to grip the one Steve has on his sternum, left loose at his side. He doesn’t want to touch Steve with it. Almost doesn’t want to touch him at all, but he wants to more than not, so he does. He thinks he might’ve always been like that, always following Steve, staying close even when he didn’t necessarily want to.

He forces himself to take another deep breath.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Steve,” he says quietly, angling his head down a little. It’s loud compared to the previous quiet. “It’s going to happen. I _know_ it’s going to happen.”

“Bucky-” Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off, quickly turning his head around but only just enough to see Steve out of the corner of his eye. He can’t look at him yet.

“ _It will_ , Steve,” he says firmly, frustration bleeding into his voice, _helplessness_ , “Whether it’s _me_ or _him_ , it’s _going_ to happen. And _I don’t know if I can_ -” He bites down on his trembling lower lip, caught between his teeth, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to _stop_ it. _I don’t want it to happen_.”

Steve’s quiet for a minute, just holding him, face up over Bucky’s shoulder near the back of his head. “Then what do you suggest?” Steve finally asks, quiet, “Because I can’t- I don’t want to lose you, Buck. I can’t,” he says simply, “Not again.”

“I’m not all the way back,” Bucky sighs after a minute, just as quiet, “I may never be.”

“I know,” Steve replies, chest rising and falling evenly against Bucky’s back, making Bucky rise and fall just a little with it. It’s comforting in the way it comforts a frightened child. He’s not above acknowledging that’s what he is right now. “And that’s...I won’t say ‘alright’, but if that’s how things are, then that’s how things are,” Steve continues softer, “I won’t lie to you and say it wouldn’t be nice if you remembered everything, but you don’t _have_ to. It’s enough that _you’re_ _here_.”

Bucky’s quiet for a few moments, face scrunching up. “That’s a dangerous way to think, Steve,” he says quieter.

Steve lowers his voice as well, but it’s no less decisive. “Maybe. But it’s not changing anytime soon.”

Bucky looks back straight ahead at the bathtub, letting out a frustrated, resigned sound a few moments later. “You always were _stubborn_ ,” he says, keeping the slight question out of his tone. He doesn’t remember it all, but he remembers and knows enough to know _that_.

He can practically feel Steve’s smirk without having to look.

“You can be pretty bad yourself,” Steve half teases. Bucky lets out a quiet scoff, mostly for Steve’s benefit. He knows Steve won’t really buy it, but they can both pretend with the best of them.

They sit in silence for a while, Bucky sighing when the black on the edge of his periphery gives it’s fifth aborted jerk in the last seven minutes. He reaches over with his right hand and grabs Steve’s right wing, and it stills immediately, the chest against his back freezing with it briefly.

Bucky tugs it forward gently and, slowly, both large, black wings come around, crossing in front of him, long feathers covering his legs and brushing his arms and chest.

“We couldn’t do this as well before,” he finds himself saying, the flash of memory coming shortly after. It’s not much: just black feathers around his shoulders and a stuttering chest and stubborn heartbeat that he wanted to keep beating with a desperate sort of _need_ at his back. The black wings weren’t as large as his, but they were _trying_.

He can’t understand the context without more of the memory to go with it. He knows he and Steve weren’t ‘ _lovers_ ’, knows they’re more than just best friends, but he doesn’t want to give away that he doesn’t know much more than that by asking. Steve answers him anyway, in a way.

“No,” Steve agrees, a small smile in his voice, slowly relaxing again at Bucky’s back, “But you did it so much each winter that I _had_ to try and return the favor, anyway. I couldn’t _always_ be the little spoon in our relationship,” he teases.

Bucky snorts quietly, the silence slowly tensing again. “What are we gonna do?” he asks, almost a whisper. He doesn’t want to, but he _will_ leave Steve if he has to. It’s not even an option. He won’t put Steve in any more danger than he’s _already_ in. If Steve won’t look after himself, Bucky will, and he _knows_ that’s him all over.

Steve’s quiet for a bit before saying, honestly, “I don’t know.” He shifts behind Bucky a little, cupboards rattling quietly as he tries to get more comfortable against them. “Can we take it one day at a time?” Steve asks, “Take down Lukin and Hydra? Make the world _safer_ for you to be in again?”

Bucky frowns a little. “Fury would never let you do that. Let _us_ do that. Not while you’re babysitting me.”

A blink wing jabs into his chest and Bucky huffs with it. “I’m not _babysitting_ you,” Steve says. Bucky can almost hear him rolling his eyes. “I’m helping you. ...At least, I think I am.”

Bucky squeezes the hand still on his sternum, turning his head enough to look back at Steve. “You are,” he says firmly.

Steve looks at him for a moment, expression slowly easing from uncertainty into a smile, small and slow.

Bucky turns his head back around, shifting down a little so he can lay his head back and rest it just below Steve’s shoulder. “You really want to take on Hydra and Lukin? _Just us?_ Of course you do,” he muses, answering his own question.

“I want you to be able to live your life,” Steve says quietly after a moment, tone serious. Bucky’s wings stiffen briefly before he forces them to relax again. “I want you to be the only one who has _control_ over yourself.”

“Well _that’s_ going to be kind of hard,” Bucky half-mumbles sarcastically.

Steve’s wing bats him gently on the leg. “You know what I mean.”

Bucky frowns across at the tile. If he and James got along, maybe. But that’s still...ongoing. And besides, there’s the matter of Hydra and Lukin having essentially _created_ James. Or, well, Bucky supposes he had a part in that, too. Or at least his mind did. Trying to share the weight and cope with the overload of... _everything_.

“What if James runs into Hydra or Lukin and rolls over for them?” Bucky asks, quieter, “What if you can’t teach an old and old-old dog new tricks?

Steve’s quiet for a moment before letting out a half frustrated, half amused breath, shifting slightly again behind him. “I hate it when you two talk about yourselves like you’re _dogs_.”

Bucky bites his tongue and holds back his response, doesn’t say that they practically _were_. That that’s one of the few things he and James seem to even _agree_ on. Steve already knows that much, for the most part.

“As for Hydra and Lukin,” Steve continues, “I don’t know how James will react to them. I don’t know what he’ll do if he’s suddenly faced with _either_. Talking about doing it is one thing, actually _doing it_ is another.”

Bucky snorts quietly. “So you _do_ have some common sense somewhere in that head of yours.”

Steve bats him again gently, black feathers flared a little indignantly, and Bucky grins a little. It feels a bit more real now.

Steve sighs again, and Bucky hears the back of his head _thunk_ gently back against the cabinet. “I don’t know,” Steve says after a minute, still quiet, all teasing aside, “But I’ll do my best.”

A flash of Steve lying in the black space with a bullet hole in his forehead flashes through Bucky’s mind. He can almost feel the gun and shield in his hands.

He keeps himself calm, only grips Steve’s hand on his sternum a little tighter. “What if your best isn’t good enough?” he asks, quieter.

Steve shifts a little again. Bucky can feel eyes on him, knows Steve is thinking of the same thing he is. “Then I’ll do better,” Steve says, like it’s that simple, “ _That_ won’t happen, Buck. It won’t. I won’t let it.”

Bucky stays quiet, still staring at the tile. “You can’t know that,” he says a few moments later.

“No, I can’t,” Steve agrees, “But I also know James isn’t the only one _in_ there.”

“I hurt you before,” Bucky says flatly.

“You did, kind of,” Steve admits, wings shifting slightly in front of Bucky, “But things are different now, and now you _can_ put up a fight if something happens, even if it’s in your head and not with your fists. I know you can, if you needed to.”

Bucky looks back at him after a moment and finds blue, full of all the conviction and belief that he sometimes catches glimpses of in his dreams and has seen more often awake than in his memories. He frowns a little.

“Do you write these speeches down or come up with them in the moment? Because Steve. That was beautiful,” Bucky jokes, choking up exaggeratedly, trying to change the subject.

Steve shoves him with his wings again a little harder, rolling his eyes. “ _Shuttup_.” But he lets the subject drop, for now.

Bucky grins a little.

Steve’s lips twitch up before he smiles, closing his eyes after a few moments. “Now be quiet. I need to sleep.”

“ _Here?_ ” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow.

Steve hums in agreement, eyes still closed.

“I only just got more used to the _bed_ ,” Bucky grumbles, turning his head back around and resting it back on Steve. He misses the look Steve gives the top of his head.

“Me too,” Steve says quietly.

Bucky frowns a little, but doesn’t say anything, just closes his eyes. Maybe with Steve wrapped around him he’ll dream of laughter and dancing instead of shadows and blood. Maybe the black wings barring him from the world will keep out the black of his past, if just for one night-

He needs to tell Steve that. To stop dying his damn wings. But he’s asleep before he can muster up the energy to open his eyes again.

\--

Bucky’s gone when Steve wakes up, still slouched a little against the bottom sink cupboards with a crink in his neck and wings splayed out across the tile floor. He can hear puttering coming from somewhere in the living room though so he pushes himself up, stretching in the middle of the bathroom with a yawn, wings spreading out as much as they can before his eyes catch on the black. They linger there for a moment before he heads to his bedroom to get a change of clothes, heading back into the bathroom after and shutting the door.

When he comes out into the main room after, yesterday’s clothes dumped into his basket and wings white again, James looks over from where he’s sitting on the floor with his headphones on and frowns at him a little.

Steve raises a questioning eyebrow but James just narrows his eyes slightly before turning a little, eyes shifting to something else.

Steve follows his gaze, letting out a small laugh when he finds all of the brownie ingredients neatly set out on the table.

“Alright, alright,” Steve concedes, looking back over to where James is looking at him, headphones now down around his neck and sitting up a little straighter. “Let’s make brownies.”

James’ wings jerk up slightly, and then he’s pulling his headphones off and vaulting over the couch.

\--

‘ _You coming in today? =0_ ’

Steve swoops down low towards the closest roof and then up a few feet, retracting his wings and landing on his feet on top of the building, texting back a response.

‘ _Not scheduled to. Why?_ ’

A reply comes a minute later.

‘ _Clint wants to introduce you to the classics of garterbelts, red lips, and musical numbers. ;)_ ’

Steve frowns a little, pushing up his sweat damp bangs off of his forehead with a hand while he texts back with the other.

_‘I have no idea what that means. :|’_

_‘You will. ;)’_

_‘D:’_

He might be a little addicted to using smiley faces. It might be all Natasha’s fault.

His phone vibrates again and he looks at the new message.

_‘You can bring them too. 8D’_

Steve frowns again, looking out at the city in thought. He could. Maybe. It’d get them out of the apartment, and Steve knows they’re going to be itching to fly soon, if they’re not already. It won’t be that, but it’ll be _something_. And they’ll be going somewhere safe.

He taps out a reply.

_‘I’ll ask. : >’_

He spreads his wings out, phone vibrating one last time.

_‘Entertainment Room 3. 8 o’ clock. Be there. And don’t. Be. A. Square. ;0’_

Steve’s mouth twists and he raises an eyebrow, pocketing his phone before leaping off of the edge of the roof and beating his wings, taking off and skimming through streams of sunlight streaming down from breaks in the clouds.

\--

They take the elevator up to the floor the entertainment room is on, Bucky only a little tense at his side in his jeans, tshirt, boots, and leather jacket, hair pulled back into another ponytail. Steve’s not sure where the leather jacket came from, just that it looks vaguely familiar and might be one of the pieces of clothing Natasha tried to get him to wear and he put on once before never pulling it out of his closet again. Seeing as it’s slightly big on Bucky, it probably is. Bucky looks over at Steve and Steve glances away, looking back after a few seconds only to find Bucky still looking at him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. “You seem more nervous than _I_ am.”

Steve’s wings flutter a little, caught. “Not _nervous_ , just...I’m not sure what either of us is walking into,” Steve replies, eyebrows pulling together a little, “The last time Clint made me watch a ‘classic’, there was a lot of screaming, flying cars, weird hair styles, and a singing blue woman.”

Bucky’s other eyebrow rises to join the first, lips slowly curving up. “I think I’m going to enjoy this,” he says with a small smirk.

Steve snorts, nudging Bucky’s wing with his own that Bucky nudges back before the elevator comes to a stop and they step out.

Natasha greets them outside the room, smirking when she spots them. “You made it, Vega,” she says, looking at Bucky when she adds, “Jules.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“ _Fury_ is Jules,” Steve corrects, “ _Mia_.”

Natasha hums an agreeing sound, Bucky’s eyes darting between the two. “It’d probably make more sense if he was _Lance_ , anyway,” Natasha replies.

Steve’s face screws up a little, but Natasha turns and enters the entertainment room before he can ask about that. He’s not entirely sure he wants to know, even if he doesn’t know much about James’ connection with Natasha.

Bucky looks at him again and Steve looks back, shrugging a little. “We watched _Pulp Fiction_.” He walks into the entertainment room, Bucky following.

“The _genre?_ ” Bucky asks, giving him a quizzical look.

Steve looks back, smirking.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “A movie,” he pieces together.

Steve grins.

Clint’s got everything set up already, movie paused on a black screen and four large bowls of popcorn on the long coffee table in front of the couch. “Hey, man,” he greets Steve with a raised hand, eyes going to Bucky, “ _You_ look like you’re doing better.”

Natasha’s sitting on Clint’s left, their wings brushing, so Steve takes a seat on his right, Bucky sitting on _his_ right with _their_ wings brushing. Steve tries not to think about it.

“Debatable,” Bucky returns a little sardonic, reaching to set a bowl of popcorn in his lap and offer some to Steve.

Steve gives him a look while taking some and eating it, Clint dimming the lights with a switch on the remote in his hand before hitting ‘play’, setting it down on the coffee table after and picking up his own bowl of popcorn. “I think we’re _all_ debatable,” Clint replies, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Bucky looks over to him, but Clint keeps his eyes on the screen. Steve gives Bucky another look, a little, ' _So there_ ,' and eats his popcorn.

Bucky rolls his eyes and takes some popcorn for himself.

A pair of red lips fade into being on the big screen and Steve and Bucky both stare, each with a handful of popcorn half raised to their mouths.

“Are those-” Steve starts.

“Shh,” Clint shushes him, taking some more popcorn, “ _The lips_.”

“ _The_ _what?_ ” Steve asks.

Clint shushes him again.

“Clint,” Steve says amidst more _shh_ -ing, “ _What is this_.”

“ _Greatness_ ,” Clint replies emphatically, “Now be quiet. This is important info those red beauties are singing about.”

Steve’s face twists up a little, but when he glances over Bucky’s both engrossed and a little confused, eyebrows pulled together and eyes intent on the screen, focused on the singing while he chews slower.

Steve cracks a small smile before looking back as well.

\--

“Clint, is that-” Steve cuts off.

“Natasha told you. _Garterbelts_ ,” Clint says, eating some more popcorn.

“I had to wear one on a mission twice,” James says quietly, pulling Bucky’s hair tie out and slipping it into a jacket pocket. Everyone freezes and looks over.

James takes a few pieces of popcorn out of the bowl in his lap, frowning at it briefly before putting one into his mouth and chewing slowly, expression thoughtful.

“ _Three_ times,” Clint says, breaking the silence, and James and Steve both look over at him. Clint takes another handful of popcorn, looking back. “They work great for holding arrows when you have to pick between a garter belt and thigh highs.”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together while Natasha and a reluctant James nods once in agreement, the tension in the room slowly receding.

They all turn their heads to look at him and Steve looks between the three of them. “I’ve never worn either,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly at Clint when he smirks.

“I smell.. _.initiation_ ,” Clint says dramatically, wings fluttering a little playfully against the back couch cushions.

Steve rolls his eyes, but when they land on James he sees his expression has gone a little intense in concentration, studying Steve.

“Please tell me you’re not picturing me in a garter belt,” Steve says, wings twitching slightly against his back.

“Red,” Clint says from his left, and Steve’s head whips over to look at him.

“Clint,” Steve says sternly.

“Blue,” James says, quietly decisive, “It will bring out his eyes.”

Steve’s head snaps back to him. “ _James_.”

Clint makes an agreeing sound while chewing his popcorn, swallowing it down to say, “You have a point.” Natasha then hums quietly in her own agreement, taking some popcorn for herself, but her eyes are focused on them.

“ _Both of you_ ,” Steve says, wings stiff at his back and cheeks hot, “Just _watch the damn movie_.”

Clint gasps dramatically, popcorn dropping back into the bowl while turning wide eyes on Steve. “Did _Captain America_ just _curse?_ ”

Steve stares at him for a minute before quickly swiping Clint’s popcorn bowl, slowly raising and tilting it precariously to the side, eyes on Clint while the popcorn slowly slides towards the edge of the bowl, on the verge of falling to the floor.

“ _Alright! **Alright!**_ ” Clint concedes, feathers flaring in alarm, knocking into Natasha who shoves him back, hands scrambling for the bowl, “Don’t be a _heathen_ ,” Clint mutters, taking the hit Natasha sends him with her wing and grabbing some more popcorn when Steve relents and gives back the bowl.

James is silent, but he nudges his wing slightly, hesitantly into Steve’s after a moment and Steve blinks over at him, surprised. James glances at him quickly before his eyes are back on the screen.

Steve looks back to it as well, smiling a little while nudging him back, a warmth settling in his chest when James _lets_ him.

\--

James hums quietly from where he’s wrapped around Steve’s back. Steve can’t hear him through their helmets or over the sound of the engine, but he’s pretty sure from the vibrations he can feel that it’s ‘ _Rose Tint My World_ ’ from the movie they just saw.

When they get back to the apartment, James takes his helmet off while heading straight for the brownies sitting in a covered dish on the kitchen counter, pulling the lid off and taking one out. Steve watches his wings flutter a little behind him when he bites into it and can’t help the smile that finds its way onto his face.

“What did you think of the movie?” Steve asks, dropping his keys onto the table.

James turns to look at him, swallowing first before answering, quietly, “I only saw half of it. It did not make much sense.”

Steve’s smile softens a little, something in his chest twingeing, but James adds, “I liked the music. Rocky was relatable. But I did not like Riff-Raff and Magenta.”

He frowns and Steve’s smile falters before he makes it settle. He’s pretty sure he knows why, on both counts.

Steve sets his helmet on the table to shed his coat, folding it over the back of a chair. “I felt bad for Colombia,” he says, walking over and stopping next to the counter, wing twitching slightly towards the brownies in question and he pauses, waits.

James looks at him for a moment before nudging the dish a little in his direction. Steve smiles gratefully and takes a brownie, biting off a corner. Steve may have helped him make them, but James seems to really _like_ them. Guards them like a dog with a bone.

He mentally kicks himself for thinking of that correlation.

“To have two lovers taken away,” James says softly, thoughtfully, finishing his brownie before reaching down to take another, staring at it for a moment as he adds, quieter, “It looked painful.”

Steve watches him for a moment and only hums in quiet agreement, looking at the floor while he takes another bite, chewing while in his own thoughts. He glances up when he hears the lid put back on the dish.

James has a fourth brownie in one hand and his third one in the other, the second, unfinished brownie sticking out of his mouth between his teeth, his helmet set on the counter.

Steve tries to stifle a laugh and James looks over, blinking once, slowly, before trying to look down at the brownie hanging out of his mouth. Steve cracks a lighter smile and nods towards the helmet. “I’ll take your helmet if you want the extra hand,” he offers.

James stares at him for a moment before nodding slowly. Steve smiles, taking it over and setting it next to his own on top of the table. When he looks back, James is already heading down the hall, wings swaying just slightly back and forth while he quietly hums. Steve takes another bite of his brownie before heading to his own room, feeling lighter even though he’s still mulling over James’ words.

\--

“ _THAT FUCKER_.”

Steve jolts awake, only taking a quarter of a second before throwing himself out of his bed and across the hall to Bucky’s room, shoving open his ajar door to find him sitting at his desk in front of his laptop, quickly closing a photo and half turning towards Steve before Steve can get a good look.

He rubs the sleep out of his eyes while he scans the room.

“ _Bucky? Are you alright?_ ” Steve asks, urgent, still tense even though he doesn’t...see...anything. He scans the room again just to make sure.

“I- Yeah. I just,” Bucky pauses, pursing his lips before frowning a little. “I didn’t get to finish the movie.”

Steve blinks at him before deflating, letting out a loud breath and wings sagging a bit against his back. “Was that why you were yelling?”

Bucky hesitates just the slightest and Steve frowns. Bucky squints back.

Steve rolls his eyes, throwing his hands up a little with a sigh. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, heading back out into the hall. “ _Since you won’t tell, I’ll go look for the movie on Netflix!_ ” Steve calls over his shoulder.

“Be out in a minute!” Bucky calls after him, turning back to his laptop as soon as he’s sure Steve’s steps are out of the hall.

He pulls the picture back up and stares at it for a moment, teeth grinding.

James is in the picture, dressed in what Bucky wore last night, has just taken a bite of brownie and is holding up their notepad facing the screen which reads, ‘ _Steve may be appealing in a garterbelt. We looked appealing in one_,’ in James’ sharp, jagged font, expression mostly blank. But there’s something in his eyes that Bucky doesn’t like and James’ wings are angled up in a way that is subtly...mocking? Challenging?

Bucky grabs the notepad off of the desk and scribbles out a quick, messy reply, opening the webcam app and setting it on the timer. He clicks the camera button, pointing at the screen with gritted teeth and wings up in warning behind him.

The laptop makes a click and Bucky moves the photo to the laptop’s desktop where James will see it.

“ _I found it!_ ” Steve calls from the main room, “ _You coming, Buck?_ ”

“Yeah!” he yells back, throwing the notepad back down on the desk and shutting the laptop, heading out in his sweatpants and long sleeved shirt, hair in a messy bun.

 _They did **not**_ , he thinks vehemently.


	13. I'm looking for a place to stop, and everything feels so different now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a kind of panic attack

_‘We did not wear one of those.’ _

James’ lips quirk up in a small smirk, reaching for the notepad to write a note before holding it up and clicking the camera.

\--

_‘We did. Twice.’_

Bucky frowns heavily at the picture, eyes darting over James’ slight smirk and faintly teasing wings. He tries to remember wearing... _those_ , wearing anything _like_ that.

He gets nothing.

He closes the picture and reaches for the notepad.

“ _Hey, Buck!_ ” Steve calls down the hall before reaching and knocking on his slightly opened door, poking his head in when Bucky’s says, “Yeah?”

“Do you want to go flying with me?” Steve asks, wings raised a little in hope. Bucky grimaces a little, eyes darting to the laptop before looking back at Steve. It’s been three days since Steve first asked, and he’s asked each morning.

“I should take a shower and get ready for my session,” he lies. Well. It’s not a _complete_ lie, they never are, but- Restless as he might be getting, he still doesn’t…

Steve’s wings sag a little and his expression dampens. Bucky’s wings twitch. He hates that look on Steve’s face.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” he says a little quieter, looking down at the floor before looking back up.

Steve looks at the floor for a moment too before shaking his head and wings a little and looking back up at Bucky, a smile on his face that he knows Bucky can see through but puts on anyway. “It’s alright, Buck,” Steve tells him, even though Bucky knows it’s _not_ , “I know it’s...not exactly safe, and that you’re worried about what might happen with James. It’s just…” Steve trails off, closing his eyes briefly. Bucky’s chest tightens. Steve opens them again, smile back on his face. “It’s alright. Maybe later?” Bucky nods and Steve’s smile gets a little more real as he nods back, closing Bucky’s door back to where it was before heading out of the hall and out of the apartment.

Bucky’s wings sag at his back and he picks up the notepad, staring at it for a long moment before writing down a reply different from the one he originally intended.

\--

The thing is. Bucky begs off coming with him _every time_. Even James. Steve has seen their wings twitch, their bodies tense like they want to get up and just _go_ , hears them pace sometimes when he’s making dinner or it’s late at night, but neither come. Steve doesn’t want to push, but he just…

He sighs, breath getting lost in the cool air as he curves around the Mall in the early morning, sun still below the horizon and sky a bruised gray.

It’s just...lonely, even though Bucky being back means he’s _not_ alone anymore. Yes, he has Natasha and Clint, Tony and the Avengers ( _if they ever meet up again. He’s sure they will_ ), S.H.I.E.L.D., but it’s not the same as having _Bucky_ back, and James. When Bucky fell and Steve thought he lost his best friend on that train, it took a huge chunk of Steve with him. He’d known Bucky since they were kids, was almost _always_ with him. They grew up together.

And then he was just _gone_.

After waking up, he’d gone without Bucky for so long that he’d mostly gotten used to that hole being there, one that none of the others could fill. Now that it’s been filled with the part of his life that he always had and that’s been missing, he wants to cling onto it with everything he has. But if he does that...he’d lose Bucky in the process, hold onto him too tight, he knows he would, so he can’t. And it’s so hard not to.

Steve pushes himself faster, wings beating strong with the air current, and pulls himself out of his thoughts soon enough to call out, “On your left,” to the other flyer doing the same route.

The guy’s fast, compared to everyone else Steve’s noticed.

“Got it,” Steve hears, and then speeds on ahead of the man after.

Steve passes him a second time with the same, “On your left,” and the man lets out a sound that Steve can’t fully categorize as solely frustrated or amused, the guy’s eyes focused ahead.

“I got it,” The man calls back.

Steve manages to keep his face straight as he passes by him again.

On the third time he gets more of a reaction, and it’s actually cheering him up a bit.

“Don’t say it!” the man calls back before Steve has even reached him, beating his gray wings.

“On your left,” Steve says as he passes by.

“Man!” he hears with the sound of gray wings struggling to beat faster before they give out and he hears the man land on his feet on the ground. Steve curves around the edge of the trail soon after, not looking back.

He grins a little to himself.

\--

The man’s name, he finds out when Steve runs into him collapsed against the base of a tree after finishing his laps, is Sam. He works at the VA, his wings are a gunmetal gray, and he’s a soldier, like Steve.

Steve doesn’t really linger long at first. The guy’s nice, and he distracts Steve from the worries about Bucky and James that almost constantly run through his head, but Steve doesn’t know if he should get to know him, or let _Sam_ get to know _him_.

He leaves after about five minutes.

\--

Bucky and James still won’t fly with him.

\--

It’s three more days before Steve lets himself stay longer and actually _talk_ with Sam. It’s not long enough for James or Bucky to start getting worried about him, and he lets himself open up a bit more.

“How is it going with the VA secretary?” Steve asks, wings fluttering a little teasingly behind him. Sam’s mentioned her once or twice now.

Sam huffs a laugh before placing a hand over his heart, saying dramatically, “Dropped a ‘ _no_ ’ on me like a bag of _bricks_.”

Steve laughs a little and Sam smiles, shaking his wings out. “Nah, man. Haven’t asked her yet.”

Steve raises an eyebrow and Sam waves his hands. “Don’t give me that look. I’m working up to it, I’m working _up to it_.”

Steve smirks, expression easing down after a few moments. Sam notices.

“How are things going with you?” Sam asks, tone gentling a little but not enough to grate on Steve. He’s been asked that so much he almost never wants to hear it again. With Sam it’s different, though. Not neutral like his therapist, not fishing like Natasha, not brushing the edges of his walls but not knowing what else to do beyond that like Clint, not quietly over worrying like Coulson. It’s smoother, more...like there is no hidden agenda in his words. No extra worry because of who he is, even though Sam knows. It’s nice. To be treated like _Steve_ for a change. Like he’s just another human being with their own problems, like everybody else.

Steve lets out a sigh and Sam gestures towards a nearby tree. Steve nods, following him over to take a seat next to Sam at it’s base, crossing his legs.

“I’m…” Steve lets out another sigh, glancing over at Sam before looking out at the park, “I’m worried about my...roommate.” Steve glances over again but Sam just looks back calmly, waiting for him to go on if he wants to. Steve looks back across the park. “He’s...He’s a soldier, like us, and he’s been through a lot. And I understand his not wanting to leave the apartment, but it’s been a couple weeks at _least_ , and he hasn’t even gone for a _walk_ let alone for a _fly_. It’s...I’m not sure what to do,” Steve admits quietly, picking at some of the grass near his leg.

“He just got back recently, I take it,” Sam concludes, and Steve nods.

They’re both quiet for a minute, Steve looking at the grass he’s picking at with his fingers and Sam thinking.

“I’ve been working at the VA for a while,” Sam starts, drawing Steve’s eyes to him. Sam looks back. “All I can really say is everyone goes at their own pace, coming back.”

“I know I can’t rush him,” Steve says, looking down at his lap. “I’m trying not to. It’s just...hard. I came back and...I made some friends, but I still feel…”

“Alone?” Sam finishes for him when Steve doesn’t. Steve looks over at him.

“I don’t mean to make this about me,” Steve tries amends, “I just...If I feel this alone, I can only imagine how he feels.” Steve looks back at the ground for a moment before looking back. “He doesn’t deserve to feel that way.”

Sam’s lips quirk up a little, nodding once before looking back out at the park. “Yeah, I know that feeling,” he says a little softer, “Same with feeling alone. Like the whole world is there and you see people every day, talk to them even, but it’s like everything’s _different_. Like you were part of something, and now you’re just...not. Like you don’t really fit in.”

Steve drops his eyes to the ground for a minute, letting out a breath and leaning back against the tree, wings brushing Sam’s from the proximity. “Does it ever get...more _normal?_ ” Steve asks, looking up at the leaves overhead.

Sam huffs a laugh, leaning back against the tree next to him and looking up as well. “I don’t know. What’s ‘normal’, anyway?”

Steve huffs his own laugh, shaking his head a little. “I honestly don’t know anymore.”

“You and me both,” Sam agrees, a grin in his voice.

Steve glances over and Sam turns his grin on him. Steve smiles back.

They both spend the next ten minutes just enjoying the gentle breeze.

\--

Bucky’s on the couch when Steve gets back from his morning flying two days later, slouched down on the cushions and looking bored, maybe even the slightest bit miserable. The look is gone almost as soon as Steve steps out of the hall, but Steve still catches a glimpse of it anyway. Bucky turns on the couch and looks over, eyebrow rising at Steve’s smile.

“You look like you’re in a good mood,” Bucky comments as Steve passes by and heads for his bedroom.

Steve hums back in agreement, heading down the hall.

“ _What’d I miss?_ ” Bucky calls after him.

“Nothing!” Steve yells back, pulling open his drawers to dig out a change of clothes.

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky calls, in that voice of his that says ‘ _I want to know and I'm going to pester you until you tell_ ’.

Steve huffs out a laugh, feeling good, closing the last drawer. “I made a friend?” he yells over his shoulder towards the hall.

When he turns around, clothes in hand, Bucky’s standing in his doorway, wings raised a little and body still, eyes focused intently on Steve. Steve’s wings flare a little in surprise. He didn’t hear him make a sound.

“Who is it,” Bucky demands, voice lacking inflection.

Steve freezes for a moment, staring. He can’t completely tell if he’s actually _Bucky_ right now, or James. It could be James, but Bucky’s got a protective streak a mile long.

“Bucky?” Steve asks a little tentatively, lowering his wings a little.

Bucky, or James, tilts his head just slightly, eyes narrowing fractionally as his bangs slide just a bit against the side of his face.

 _Okay_ , he thinks, _not_ Bucky.

“James?” Steve tries, but stays where he is. He can’t tell if this is going to blow up in his face or not. James hasn’t tried to hurt him since their time in S.H.I.E.L.D., and Steve’s guard around him _has_ gone lax, but that doesn’t mean he’s not aware of how _dangerous_ James is. He just chooses not to let that rule his every thought and action. If he did, them living together and Bucky and James _adjusting_ would never work.

“Who is it,” James demands again, body and wings going unnaturally still.

Steve frowns a little but answers. “His name is Sam. I met him while I was out flying.”

James narrows his eyes a little more, one wing twitching just slightly as his eyes go a little unfocused.

Steve straightens up a little. “He’s not Hydra.”

James’ eyes refocus on him, expression darkening a little. “You wouldn’t know.”

Steve’s wings stiffen, fingers digging a little into the clothes he’s holding in his hands. “ _I wouldn’t?_ ” Steve asks, voice lowering.

James’ eyes widen fractionally before narrowing again, wings giving a slight twitch. “You didn’t know about Bucky,” he states.

Steve flinches, tightening his grip on the clothes again, wings flaring out a little. “No. I didn’t,” he admits quietly, eyes dropping to the floor briefly before looking back up, continuing a little louder, firmer, “I didn’t know Bucky survived the fall. I didn’t know Zola found him. I didn’t know Zola _experimented_ on him before I got him out of that facility in Austria. I didn’t know it was _him_ behind the mask trying to _kill_ _me_ and continuously _missing_ on the first try,” Steve says a little harshly.

James doesn’t shift much, doesn’t really move, but Steve gets the impression that he’s listening now. That what Steve is saying is sinking past whatever urge brought him out and made him come to Steve’s room in the first place.

Steve takes a steadying breath, tries to force down everything trying to bubble up inside of him. Now’s not the time.

“No, I didn’t know,” Steve says, the harshness out of his voice, “But I’ve got a good sense with people, and Sam doesn’t feel like Hydra to me. He feels...like he could be a friend.”

James looks at him for so long everything he’s trying to push down, the fear, the uncertainty, the doubt comes rising back up. Because as good as he is with how he feels about people, the things they make him feel - his intuition - there’s always the, “ _What if?_ ” What if he’s wrong this time? What if Sam really _is_ Hydra? What if Hydra’s _capable_ of that? They were capable of it with Bucky, even though something was off about The Winter Soldier since they met. What if he never _has_ friends outside of an organization and his coworkers? Would that be so bad? What if he’s alone for the rest of his life? Would _that_ be so bad?

“...-Steve?” he hears vaguely, then his knees are hitting the floor, chest heaving and vision swimming, wings trembling violently at his back. His chest feels constricted, like he’s not getting enough air. It feels like the serum’s gone and he has asthma _all over again. It feels like_ -

Hands grip his shoulders, one letting go and resting on his forehead - cool - tilting his head back so urgent, familiar eyes look down into his, darting between one eye and the other before releasing his forehead. There’s a quiet, pitiful sound that comes from somewhere ( _him?_ ) and the hand pauses before carefully pressing back to his forehead again, white coming around to surround him. Steve closes his eyes, breaths still coming fast.

He’s not sure how much time passes, how long it takes for his breathing to gradually slow, but there’s still a warm hand on his shoulder and a warming, metal one on his forehead that he tries to focus on the whole time. The tight grip he had on the clothes in his arms has loosened, slackening enough as his breaths slow back to something resembling normal that they fall out of his arms and to the floor. It doesn’t matter. His wings are still trembling but it’s less now, and it’s only then that he realizes there’s feathers brushing against his that aren’t his own.

Steve opens his eyes.

James is still looking down at him, expression tense, one knee on the floor and the other angled to the side in a half crouch. His wings are the ones brushing Steve’s, surrounding him in white.

“I-” Steve stops, voice coming out rough. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

The hand on his forehead shifts up slightly - like it’s going to brush through his hair - before halting, slowly retracting until the warmed metal isn’t touching him at all, the arm on his shoulder soon following. James pulls his wings back. Steve misses it all.

“You apologize too much,” James states quietly, a little softer than usual.

Steve opens his mouth to apologize again but then pauses, catching himself, and closes it.

James reaches down to grab the clothes Steve dropped and hands them to him, Steve taking them after a moment before James rises, offering him a hand. Steve looks at it for a moment, shifting the clothes into one arm before taking his offered hand with the other and letting James pull him up off of the floor.

He looks at Steve for a long moment, still holding his hand.

Steve shifts slightly, breaking whatever is going on, and they both let go.

“Bring him here,” James says, making Steve blink.

“Sam?” Steve asks.

James nods. Steve’s wings flare up a little in surprise before he forces them down, eyes darting to the side for a moment before looking back. “I just met him. Five days ago,” Steve says.

James just stares at him and Steve lets out a quiet sigh, closing his eyes briefly before looking back. “I don’t know if I want anyone else to come here,” Steve admits, quieter. James’ eyes shift slightly to look over Steve’s shoulder in thought before looking back to him.

“I will...go with you,” he says, mouth pinching slightly, clearly not wanting to.

Steve’s quiet for a moment, letting that settle. He’s not unselfish enough to tell James he doesn’t have to, because he really _doesn’t_ want anyone coming to his apartment, intruding on their false sense of security. “What should I tell him about...You know,” Steve says, wings shuffling a little behind him, “What do I do if you and Bucky suddenly switch off while we’re with him?”

James angles his head a little, considering. “If he is not Hydra, you could tell him the truth.”

Steve shakes his head, looking off to the side. “I don’t know if that would be a good idea, anyone knowing you’re here,” Steve clarifies, looking back at him, “It’s bad enough he’d be _seeing you_. What if he recognizes you? I don’t know if I should- This might not be a good idea.”

James studies him for a moment before saying, “It’s _not_ a good idea.” Steve’s eyebrows pull together a little. James just keeps looking at him. “But we need to know for sure, and if he is Hydra, I can confirm that.” Steve frowns a little, but James continues. “If you do not want to tell him the truth, I will agree to play at ‘being sick’ and leave you two to talk after I’ve met him. Or Bucky. He can tell who’s Hydra as well as I can.”

Steve’s wings give a small jerk of surprise and he stands up a little straighter. He wasn’t aware of that.

James’ lips twitch just slightly. “You are many things, Steve Rogers,” he says, turning and heading for the door, “Foolish, even. But you do not make _friends_ with fools.”

Steve blinks before huffing out a breath, raising an eyebrow as he follows, clothes still held in his arm. “Well, yeah,” he half jokes, “Look at you.”

James pauses at the door, wings flaring slightly in what might be surprise, but Steve can’t see his face so he’s not completely sure. Steve stops before he can run into him.

James keeps walking after a moment, heading right down the hall while Steve heads for the bathroom to the left. “Take your shower, Rogers,” James says over his shoulder, “You stink.” He turns left at the end of the hall but Steve just barely catches sight of his lips turned up, just a little.

Steve blinks before snorting, turning towards the bathroom. “ _Ha ha_ , I’m going,” he calls down the hall, closing the bathroom door with a smile. He has the feeling James is smiling too.

Steve kind of wishes he could see it.

\--

“He wants to meet me?” Sam asks him the next morning, after they’ve both landed by the trees after their laps, Steve doing at least three times as many, as usual. He can actually say ‘as usual’ about it, now. He’s developed a _routine_ with Sam. It makes something flutter in his chest.

“Yeah. If that’s alright?” Steve asks, wings twitching a little behind him. “You don’t have to, and I don’t mean to put you on the spot. He’s just…” Steve trails off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. Bucky’s over protective, but he’s not sure what he’d call James.

“I get it,” Sam says, before the silence can stretch into awkward, giving Steve an understanding smile. “He’s just trying to look out for you.”

Steve smiles a little awkwardly, nodding.

“Yeah, sure,” Sam agrees after moment, “I’d be glad to meet him. He coming with you tomorrow, or did you guys want to meet somewhere?”

“He’s coming with me,” Steve says, smiling, glad, _nervous_. He’s more than sure Sam’s not Hydra, but...he’s not entirely sure. He can’t be, really, he knows that, even if his gut says otherwise. But the doubt’s already there, and he doesn’t want Bucky or James to worry. He likes his time with Sam, which is one of the few, _better_ things he’s found in the 21st century.

“Alright,” Sam agrees easily, before adding, “I also have news.”

Steve angles his head up slightly, hands coming to rest on his hips. “Yeah?”

Sam grins. “She said yes.”

Steve laughs, nerves falling away while his wings shuffle - pleased - behind him.

\--

“You tell him?” Bucky asks when Steve gets back, voice coming from the room connected to the living room that Steve mostly uses for minor storage. When Bucky comes out, he’s covered in a light sweat in another long sleeved shirt. Must have been doing his daily exercises.

“Yeah,” Steve stops, wiping the back of a hand across his sweaty forehead. “He said he’d be ‘glad to meet you’.”

Bucky narrows his eyes a little, heading for a kitchen cupboard to grab a glass before heading to the sink to get some water. “Is that so?” he asks cooly, before taking a long drink.

Steve stares at him flatly for a minute before rolling his eyes and heading down the hall.

“ _I still don’t like this!_ ” he hears Bucky call after him.

“You and James agreed to it!” Steve yells back, closing the bathroom door.

Bucky grumbles to himself, looking down into his cup. Yeah, they _agreed_ to it. It was either that or break Steve’s heart a little more (like he could do _that_ to him, especially before finding out if this ‘Sam’ _is_ actually Hydra or not). Doesn’t mean he _likes_ it.

“ _I can **hear** you grumbling, Buck_ ,” Steve calls down the hall, poking his head out of the bathroom door just to do it.

Bucky rolls his eyes, finishing his water. “ _Take your damn shower_ ,” he mumbles.

“ _I heard that!_ ” Steve yells down the hall, bathroom door shutting again.

Bucky’s lips twitch up without his permission.

\--

For all that Bucky and James are determined to meet Sam, they don’t really want to leave the apartment. Or, well, _Bucky_ doesn’t.

“Buck, we have to go,” Steve says, standing with his hand on the doorknob, door half open.

Bucky crosses his arms at the end of the hall, wings shuffling behind him as he looks off to the side, leather jacket on and one of Steve’s baseball caps on his head, sunglasses held pinched between two of the fingers in his right hand. He glances back to Steve. “I don’t like this.”

Steve lets out a sigh, closing the door most of the way before turning to him, placing his hands on his hips. “You’re acting like you’re eight and trying to avoid going to church _all over_ again.”

Bucky stares at him for a moment before his eyes drop to the floor. Steve’s hands drop to his sides, taking a step closer.

“Buck- I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Steve says quieter. Because Bucky can’t remember that. He can’t remember _being_ eight.

Bucky shakes his head a little, slipping the sunglasses on.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, walking towards Steve, “You’re right.” He stops, letting out a small sigh. “I’m just...I don’t want anything to happen. I don’t want to get made. I don’t want _you_ to get targeted. I know the apartment isn’t completely safe, but it’s safer than being out in the open.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve says, gentler, reaching up to squeeze Bucky’s right shoulder reassuringly with a hand. “But it’s either this, or Sam comes here.”

Bucky grimaces a little, wings twitching behind him. “Let’s go,” he says.

Steve smiles and lets go of his shoulder, opening the door for him, but Bucky makes him go first.

They meet Sam where him and Steve tend to meet after their laps. Sam’s already there, leaning against one of the many trees near the cement path that leads to one of the park’s entrances, cars passing by up ahead.

Bucky signals Steve with a tilt of his head and Steve nods, angling left before gliding down between the trees a decent distance away from the curb, folding his wings in and dropping the last few feet to land, Bucky doing the same beside him. Sam’s about twenty feet away, so Steve calls out to him.

Sam straightens up and whips his head around, waving at him with a hand while he heads over. Steve practically _feels_ Bucky go still at his side, watching Sam closely, but Steve keeps himself from reacting to him.

“Hey, man,” Sam greets with a smile.

“Hey, Sam,” Steve returns with one of his own, turning a little towards Bucky when Sam’s eyes shift to him. Bucky’s still tense, but not as much as he was a moment ago. _Hopefully_ that’s a good thing. “This is my friend-”

“Bucky,” Bucky cuts in, holding out his right hand towards Sam.

Sam’s eyes go a little wide, darting between Steve and Bucky until he shakes himself out of his shock and reaches forward to shake Bucky’s hand. “Hey,” Sam says, voice a little faint. They let go and Sam darts another look towards Steve before his eyes settle on Bucky again. “Probably a dumb question, and you don’t have to answer, but Bucky as in... _Bucky?_ ”

Bucky smirks in a way that’s sharper than it used to be and reaches up to lower his sunglasses a little, looking at Sam over the top of them. “Something like that.” He pushes the glasses back up.

Steve’s eyebrows twitch up a little and Bucky turns a little towards him, smirk turning into a cocky grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, looking back to Sam, who’s mouth is hanging open a little and eyes are a little wide, wings flared a bit at his back. “Are you going to be alright?” Steve asks, lips twitching up, even though he _is_ a little worried. It’s a shock, Steve’s well aware. He didn’t really want to tell Sam that it _was_ Bucky, but if Bucky’s deemed Sam safe enough to tell him himself, Steve can’t do much but go along with it.

Sam shakes himself again, wings and all, eyes dragging back to Steve. “Yeah,” he says faintly, glancing at Bucky again before shaking his wings out one more time. “Yeah, it’s just…”

“A lot to take in,” Steve supplies when Sam doesn’t finish. Sam looks back to him, nodding. “I understand that.” Steve smiles and Sam’s lips quirk up a little.

“Uh...do you guys wanna pick a tree?” Sam asks after a few awkward moments, “One of you is dressed like you’re trying for incognito and _this_ hasn’t been on the news, so I’m assuming you guys want to keep this a secret? Which I _will_ keep,” he adds a little hastily when Bucky shifts his stance a bit.

“Sounds fine to me,” Steve says, looking over at Bucky. “Buck?”

“Sure,” Bucky replies, turning and walking off towards a thicker tree’d part of the park. Steve looks at Sam with a shrug, who looks back before they both follow after him. “ _So he’s clear?_ ” Steve asks, quiet enough so that Sam won’t hear.

“ _He’s clear_ ,” Bucky replies, just as quiet.

They come to a stop under a tree Bucky’s picked, somewhere near the center of the area’s forest-like section, sitting down on the grass. Bucky’s leaned up against the tree and Steve sits to his right, Sam a few feet away and the head of their little triangle. Steve appreciates the distance he’s taken, he’s not sure Bucky would like Sam sitting closer just yet.

“So,” Sam starts, and Steve notices Bucky tense almost unnoticably, bracing himself for the obvious question, “How do you like the 21st century so far?”

Bucky relaxes again, lips pulling up on one side. “Junk food is _wonderful_.”

Steve groans, rolling his eyes. “It’s not, it’s really not,” Steve disagrees, pinching the bridge of his nose with a thumb and index finger.

Bucky grins over at him, shark-like, and Sam snorts, drawing both of their attentions back to him. “First thing you binged on, wasn’t it,” Sam concludes.

Bucky grins again. “Of course.”

“ _‘Of course’_ ,” Steve parrots, earning a shove from Bucky’s left wing. Steve rolls his head down a little with the motion to hide his smile before lifting it back up to look at Sam. “I’ve been wanting to catch us both up on all the Disney movies that came out. We’re both so far behind,” Steve laments a little dramatically.

Sam’s eyebrows rise a little before he nods. “You should. Though if you don’t like the more recent ones, I’d understand. The computer graphics are pretty cool though.”

Steve’s wings perk up a little and Bucky’s do the same at the same time, focusing on Sam.

Sam looks between the two of them and laughs.

\--

“That wasn’t so bad,” Steve says when they get back, closing and locking the apartment door behind him.

Bucky makes a light, agreeing sound, pulling the hat and sunglasses off and setting them on the table before pulling off his coat. “I’m glad he’s not Hydra.”

Steve huffs a breath. “Understatement,” he says a little sarcastically, coming to a stop at the table as well to drop off his keys.

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. “I thought you said he ‘felt like a friend’?”

Steve pauses, eyes dropping to the table as he pulls off his own coat. He did tell Bucky that, when he got to speak to him.

“He does,” Steve replies after a moment, folding his coat over an arm and heading for his room.

“Steve.” Bucky stops him with a hand on his arm and Steve turns around. Bucky’s face pinches a little. “I know you...You trust people, or you try to, but I can’t. I don’t think that’s ever really been me, even before the war, before everything.” His eyes drop to the grip he has on Steve’s arm and he slowly lets go, looking off to the side. “It doesn’t feel like it was, when it was just the two of us. And I know you try to do that now, still, _trust people_ , like you always have, and I want you to _keep_ that ability.” Bucky sighs. “But even if I can play ‘Hydra detector’, that doesn’t mean you should trust _me_.”

Bucky looks at him and Steve swallows.

“And you shouldn’t trust _James_ , either. No matter how much you want to. Don’t just drop your guard and let either of us hurt you,” Bucky continues, voice stronger, “Not like you did at S.H.I.E.L.D. Not like you did on that damn roof. I don’t care if it’s _me_ you have to fight, you damn well better _fight_.”

Steve’s wings jerk a little, but Bucky just looks at him, determined to get his point across. Underneath it, Steve can see the fear in his eyes, the same kind from the other night when he was telling Steve about his nightmare.

“I won’t be the one to kill you, Steve. These hands have done so much,” Bucky pauses, raising his hands a little and looking at them for a long moment before he drops them and looks back up at Steve. “I don’t want your blood on them. Your life. I spent so long using them to protect you, I know I did, even if I can’t remember it all. I don’t want them to be the hands that destroy you. I’d rather you _killed me_ first.”

Bucky’s breathing has picked up and Steve steps closer, dropping his coat on the table and pulling a reluctant Bucky into a hug, holding onto him tighter when Bucky flinches.

“You won’t, Buck,” Steve says, muffled a little where his mouth is pressed near the side of Bucky’s head, “You _won’t_. I’ll fight if I have to, I always do, but I won’t let you do any of that. And I’m not going to _kill_ you. What makes you think I _could?_ ”

Bucky’s hands come up slow, wrapping around Steve’s back hesitantly at first before tightening, hands gripping the back of Steve’s shirt under his wings. “Steve,” Bucky gets out, muffled against Steve’s shoulder, “You might _have to_.” But Steve shakes his head, gripping him tighter.

“I’ll stop you, but I’m not going to kill you,” Steve says firmly, voice quiet but no less vehement, “That’s not something I can do, and is something I’ll stop from happening _any way I can_.” Steve’s quiet for a moment, listening to Bucky’s breath shudder below his ear before adding, “I know it’d be easier to give up on you, and I know part of you probably wants me to, thinks you ‘ _deserve_ ’ it.” Bucky freezes against him and Steve sighs softly, shaking his head a little. “But I’m not, and I won’t. I’m not giving up on you, Buck,” he says, adding a little lighter, “You’re stuck with me, till the end of the line, just like we promised.”

Bucky’s arms tighten around him almost painfully and Steve feels Bucky’s chest heave once against his own, Bucky pressing his face between Steve’s shoulder and neck to muffle a sobbing sound.

But Steve feels warm tears on his skin and can see Bucky’s wings trembling, and he moves his own, slowly, Bucky’s folding in tighter to his back when Steve’s feathers brush his, letting Steve envelope them both with his own. He feels Bucky’s fingers tighten in the back of his shirt and another heave into his skin, but he just holds on, closing his eyes on the tears in his own eyes.

(They end up spilling anyway).

\--

Steve’s asleep when Bucky hears a soft knock on the front door, not loud enough to wake up anyone with enhanced hearing, but loud enough to let anyone with it know that there’s someone at the door, which is entirely too suspicious for Bucky’s liking.

He gets up from where he’d been staring into his coffee cup at the table in the kitchen light and stalks silently down the hall, left arm whirring quietly as the plates shift and readjust, readying for attack. When he gets to the front door, he wraps his right hand around the knob and throws door open, stopping it from hitting the wall with his foot and braced for attack, but pauses, wings flaring in the hall in surprise.

“Oh,” Kate- _Agent 13_ says, eyes a little wide and wings flared out in surprise, “I wasn’t- I’m sorry. I’ll just-” she points towards her apartment and turns. Bucky frowns, easing warily out of his stance.

“Did you need something?” he asks. She pauses, turning back towards him, eyebrows up a little in surprise again.

“You’re...you again, then,” she concludes, only stumbling on it slightly.

Bucky’s expression clears and he glances back into the apartment to make sure Steve’s not coming his way before stepping a little closer to the doorway and closing the door until it rests against his side, left hand on the doorknob inside. “So you met him,” he states, attention back on her. Her eyebrows furrow a little and his lips twitch up on one side. “You don’t know.”

Her eyes dart to the side briefly before looking back to him. “I don’t have the clearance level to know anything about you,” she replies.

Bucky snorts, leaning his right shoulder against the door frame and crossing his right ankle loosely over the front of his left. “And you’re watching _Captain America?_ ” he asks. Her wings twitch a little, annoyed, and he huffs a quiet laugh. “You know that’s bullshit, right?”

Her eyes narrow at him a little before glancing towards her door briefly, clearly about to leave him to his own devices.

He doesn’t want to be left to his own devices.

He straightens up from his lazing position and her eyes dart back to him. “Well, since I’m not a huge fan of _S.H.I.E.L.D._ for letting me _out_ , I’ll let you in on one of the country’s biggest secrets, _Agent 13,_ ” he says a little dramatically. She doesn’t quite roll her eyes, but it’s a close thing. “If you’re watching _Captain America_ , I’m sure I look familiar,” he says a little more seriously.

She studies him for a moment, eyes widening briefly before returning to normal. “I suspected,” she says after a silent moment.

“It’d be hard not to,” Bucky grins, putting more into it than he actually feels. “As for who you met after first meeting _me_ , that’s James. He’s an ass,” he finishes, grin twisting into a bitter twist of lips.

Her eyebrows jump up a bit, looking at him closer. “Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she concludes after a minute, tone a little awed, “That would explain why you slammed me into a table and _snarled_ at me.”

He’s pretty sure she’s joking, even if it is the truth, so he snorts a little. Her lips twitch up. Good to know he’s not _completely_ out of practice with people. Though how much of that is actually him and how much of that is _Winter Soldier training_ , he’s not sure. He’d rather not think about it right now.

His expression sobers after a moment. “Sorry,” he says, mostly honest. Her eyebrows rise again. “And well,” he says after another moment, trying to lighten over his words, “You _did_ break into _Captain America’s **abode**_.”

Her eyebrows jump a little again and he raises one back, crossing his arms over his chest when she just continues to stare.

His wings gradually angle up and flare a little, defensively, but finally she lets out a quiet laugh. “I didn’t know you were capable of making a joke,” she says. Her lips curve up a little and Bucky relaxes again, even rolls his eyes.

“‘13,” he starts, “I used to be the talk of _Brooklyn_ ,” he deadpans back, his own lips twitching up when her smile stretches a little further. It’s nice to joke about it for a change, something other than tiptoe around it or have another emotional break down like he did earlier. He needed that, but he thinks he needed this, too.

They share a comfortable kind of quiet for a minute before he leans back against the door frame, angling his head a little. “You wanted to talk to Steve, I take it?” he asks, “He was pretty...upset about you lying to him. I didn’t see it, but I know him, even like this,” he finishes a little quieter. Her wings sag a little behind her and she lets out a quiet sigh, looking towards the side for a few moments.

“I was going to try and apologize,” she says quietly, looking back to him. He watches her, reading her body language and pupil dilation. James may be more _Winter Soldier_ in the way he acts, but that doesn’t mean _Bucky_ doesn’t have those parts in him, too. Maybe Steve will actually figure that out before it gets the idiot _killed_.

“I know it...hurt him, I didn’t want that,” she continues, “And I know ‘following my orders’ is a bad excuse, but I just wanted him to know that all of our talks _weren’t_ an act. That that actually _was me_ that was talking to him, having coffee with him,” she says, quiet but earnest. Her heart beat doesn’t pick up and her pupils don’t dilate, and she _sounds_ like she means it.

Steve has that effect on people though, to be honest. When he’s not, you know, somehow driving them to dive head first into a _fist fight_ like he did _Bucky_ , exhibit _A_.

She doesn’t shift under his scrutiny, and he has to give her credit for that.

He stands back up off of the doorframe and uncrosses his arms, setting his left hand back on the inner doorknob. “Every morning, 7:30, Steve goes flying,” he says. Her gold wings stiffen briefly at her back, eyes widening a little. “Talk to him when he comes out of the apartment, or after he gets back, up to you. He’ll listen.”

He opens the door enough to step back into the apartment, pausing when she says, “Thank you.”

He smirks a little, looking at her, “Yeah I know, I’m just _wonderful_.”

She laughs softly and Bucky’s smirk curves into a smile as he closes the door and locks it, listening to her enter her apartment and do the same a moment later.

He heads back and grabs his coffee cup off the table, chugging the rest of the lukewarm liquid down before putting the cup in the dishwasher and heading to his room.


	14. Everyone told me love was blind, finally saw your face and you blew my mind

Steve comes back from flying the next morning with a strange expression on his face, pausing by the table after coming into the main room from closing the front door. James looks over his shoulder and the top of the couch, watches Steve’s eyes go unfocused in thought. “You talked with her,” James says quietly after a few moments, jerking Steve out of his thoughts to look over at him.

“I-...Yeah,” Steve replies, eyebrows pulling together a little as he looks back at the front door.

James is quiet for another moment before saying, “Bucky told you to let her talk.” He’d left a note for James saying, ‘ _Let her have her chance_.’ James hadn’t liked it, but it wasn’t his decision to make. Who Steve let into his life or not was Steve’s decision alone, no matter how much James or Bucky warned him.

Steve nods, still looking at the front door. James wings twitch a little.

“It went...well?” James tries. He’s not sure why he’s bothering to ask. As long as she doesn’t endanger either of them or give their location away - or try to plant more bugs - it shouldn’t matter. He’s not entirely sure why he cares enough to ask. It’s a pointless question.

It’s frustrating.

“Yeah,” Steve answers slowly after a few moments, expression lightening. He looks back to James, saying more confidently, “Yeah, it did.”

James nods once before turning back to the book he’s still holding open in his lap where he’s sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the tv.

“I’m…” Steve trails off. James hears his wings shake out once and looks back over at him. “I’m going to go take a shower,” he finishes thoughtfully. He watches Steve walk into the hall before turning his head back around after to memorize his page number and close Steve’s book, listening to Steve shuffle around, open and close drawers in his room, then get up when he hears Steve close the bathroom door.

The book’s slid back into its place on the bookshelf and then he heads to his room, steps silent, listening to the shower run while closing the bedroom door behind him. He takes a seat at the desk, sliding the pad of his flesh finger over the touchpad of the laptop to bring the screen back to life, signing into Skype and initiating a video call. It picks up on its third dial.

“ _Hello_ ,” Doctor Harington greets him, “ _James?_ ”

“Yes,” James answers quietly.

He said James could call at any time, before or after their scheduled appointment times ( _he’s sure he’s said the same to Bucky_ ), that he’d always answer. He has yet to fail in that, though James has only done it a few times, more to get the session out of the way than from any desire to actually talk.

Doctor Harington had quickly adjusted to James’ reluctance. Bucky’s as well, if he and Bucky are anything alike.

“ _How is your morning?_ ” Doctor Harington asks, adjusting his glasses briefly on his nose, short brown bangs sideswept over his forehead. It reminds him vaguely of the Steve in what few memories he has of Bucky’s, even though the sideswept motion is all the sepia toned Steve and his therapist have in common.

“I started reading a book,” James answers.

Doctor Harington smiles a little, expression mostly still neutral. He also has yet to flinch from the few horrific details he remembers Bucky telling him. James thinks he might be very good at his job.

“ _What book are you reading?_ "

\--

“Yeah,” Steve says into his cellphone an hour later, sitting with a knee pulled up, foot braced on the edge of the couch while James reads on the floor to his right, legs crossed and back leaned against the front of the couch. “Yes. I understand. We’ll be there in thirty minutes.” James memorizes his page number and closes the book while Steve ends his call, already getting up before Steve can to put the book back on the shelf.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” James states, turning back to find Steve already behind the couch. Steve nods, heading down the hall and coming back a minute later with his jacket on and both of their helmets in hand, handing his over when James comes around the couch to join him.

“Fury wants me to look over a mission brief, and he says he wants you to have a checkup, which I’m sure you heard,” Steve says, frowning a little at his helmet before looking back up. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I won’t let them _make_ you do it.”

James wings flare a little at the conviction in Steve’s voice before they relax again, forcing his heart rate to stay level. “I will do it,” he says quietly after a few moments, “I want to know if…” he trails off, trying to find the wording for it, “How I have changed.”

Steve watches him for a minute before nodding, smiling while gesturing with his head towards the front door. “Shall we?”

James’ lips twitch up, nodding once before following Steve out of the apartment and down the stairs, boots and jacket on, only glancing once at Agent 13’s apartment door on the way outside to Steve’s motorcycle, helmet already on before they get out in the sun.

While Steve’s climbing on, James catches sight of two women passing by, both staring openly at his and Steve’s wings. The helmet muffles their whispers, so he reads their lips instead.

_“White? Two of them? Together?”_

_“They do say ‘birds of a feather’ and all that.”_

Giggling.

_“Could always be worse. Better than black.”_

Disgusted noises. More giggling.

James takes a step towards them and their eyes dart to him, paces picking up as they watch him warily over their shoulders.

A wing nudges his and he looks over his shoulder. Steve raises his wings a little while tilting his head, a question.

James turns around and walks over while Steve pulls his wings tightly into his back, throwing his leg over the motorcycle behind Steve and winding his arms around Steve’s waist a little tighter than he usually does while pulling his own wings in, too.

Steve looks at him over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. James just looks back, raising one of his own. Steve’s eyes crinkle in what James is sure is a smile before Steve looks back ahead and starts the motorcycle up.

James ignores the two girls from a minute ago as they speed passed, dismisses their brown and blonde wings and unsubtle stares. Steve’s black ones are easily more memorable in comparison. And not disgusting, like they think.

A man with white wings meets them in the S.H.I.E.L.D. building’s parking garage, motorcycle engine loud even through the helmet until Steve kills it. He climbs off first before Steve, leaving his helmet on while Steve joins him and pulls his off. “Agent Coulson,” Steve greets the man with a small smile.

“Steve,” Coulson greets back before shifting his eyes to James. Coulson doesn’t say anything, just nods once before turning and leading the way into the building. Steve smiles over at James and they both follow. He pulls his helmet off once he’s inside, hair falling in a mess around his face. _Natasha_ meets them at the elevator.

“Natasha,” Steve says, wings flaring a little in surprise. James catches Steve’s eyes darting to him but ignores it, focusing instead on everything else: tracking exits, analyzing threats, the other agents, Agent Coulson, _Natalia_. She is the most danger to him here, to any of them.

“Rogers,” she says with a raised brow and a one sided smile, lips curved up like a cat. Her eyes shift to him and it slides up slightly further. “James.” He manages to keep his feathers from bristling. “I’m here to escort James to the medical ward while you and Coulson go see Fury.” He holds back his growl. She smirks like she knows it.

“I-” Steve cuts off, looking over to him, “If that’s alright?” he asks. James looks back, taking a moment to think, going over his options.

He doesn’t have all of his memories of Natalia - may never have them, he knows - but the last thing he remembers is her leaving him _there_. Leaving him with the Red Room and the chair. Leaving him in the cold that’s numbed his bones and made them colder with her absence. Maybe that wasn’t the last encounter they had until S.H.I.E.L.D. and Steve Rogers caught him, but it’s the last one that he _remembers_ , and it’s all he can base anything on when it comes to her. That and his scope, his monotone interrogations with her in the building he’s currently standing in, none of which are enough to form much of an opinion on. So he relies on his memories, much as he sometimes wishes he didn’t have to rely on _anything_.

He doesn’t look at her but stays aware of her position, and keeps his eyes on Steve, who’s still waiting, hasn’t rushed him and looks like he never will. It melts some of the frost Natalia brings alive in him.

“I’ll go with her,” he decides. Steve nods, brushing James’ wing gently with his own and James returning it before Coulson leads Steve to another elevator.

James watches them until they’re out of sight before turning back to Natalia, who’s now got both of her eyebrows raised, smirk gone. She turns for the elevator ahead of him and he follows her inside.

It’s quiet for a few moments as they head up to the medical floor, only broken when Natasha says casually, “You shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t look at her, or reply.

“Whatever you feel for him, it’s dangerous,” she continues.

He’s quiet for a moment, keeps his body from reacting to her words even though they make all of his almost solved confusion and frustration finally make sense, finally click into place.

Why it frustrates him that he cared enough to ask Steve about his conversation with Agent 13 earlier this morning. Why he felt the urge to go into Steve’s room and comfort him after Steve found out she’d been bugging the apartment instead of going to his own like his instincts told him to. Why Steve’s willingness to protect him ( _even though Bucky will always be the main factor in that_ ) made his heartbeat want to pick up. He wants Steve to care about him, because he-

“No more dangerous than it was with you,” he says, quieter. Manages to keep everything cycling through his head out of his voice and body.

Her wings stiffen, but then the elevator doors open and he steps out, not waiting for a reply.

She follows almost immediately after and that feels familiar, like when the small child she used to be followed him down dark, snow covered streets on frozen barefeet.

She doesn’t say anything more for the rest of his check up, but her eyes are on him the entire time.

He keeps his on her.

\--

“Do you have a mission?” Steve asks.

“Pull up Files: 2 through 9,” Fury instructs to the room at large. Steve turns to look at the giant angled monitor on the wall opposite Fury’s desk, hears Fury stand up and come around the side, stopping a couple of feet away.

“Hydra’s made a move,” Steve concludes, scanning over the files before looking over to Fury. “Lukin?”

“Maybe,” Fury replies, crossing his arms over his chest and looking over the files himself. “It’s been quiet, nothing big. These are only a little bigger than what we’ve been dealing with, so we can’t be sure. But it’s big enough to catch S.H.I.E.L.D.’s attention, and mine.” He looks over to Steve. “I want you to go in with Rumlow’s S.T.R.I.K.E. team and clear out the first location. Find out if there’s any more you can find linked to or from it while you’re there.”

“Where is the first base?” Steve asks after a moment.

“Prague.”

Steve’s wings twitch, darting his eyes over to him. “What about Bucky and James?”

“Agent 13 is watching your apartment, as you’re now well aware,” Fury says, raising an eyebrow when Steve frowns and his wings stiffen a little at his back. He’s still not happy about not knowing about that _weeks_ ago, even if she talked and apologized to him about it. “But if he agrees to it, he can stay here for the three days you’ll be gone.”

Steve glances back to the monitor, thinking, finally looking back to Fury with a nod. “I’ll ask him.”

“You leave tonight,” Fury says, heading back around his desk to take a seat in his chair, “He’s on medical floor thirty-eight.”

Steve leaves his office, a little unsettled that Fury’s keeping that close of tabs on James in the building, but not surprised.

\--

He finds Bucky and Natasha in the medical floor’s lobby...flirting?

“Anyone ever tell you your eyes are like _daggers_ _in the night?_ ” Bucky asks, eyebrows waggling.

Natasha smirks. “And your hair like the _tumbling of mountain rocks?_ ” she fires back.

Flirting _badly_.

Steve raises his eyebrows and they both look over near the same time when Bucky notices him first. Bucky grins. “Heya, Stevie.”

“What are you two doing?” Steve asks, coming to a stop a couple feet away.

Bucky tilts his head back a little where he’s sprawled in one of the chairs, Natasha sitting in one over on his right, an empty chair between them, leaning casually on her left forearm on the armrest. Steve’s pretty sure neither of them are actually as relaxed as they look, and that’s mildly disconcerting.

“Trying to one up each other, naturally,” Bucky replies with a smirk in Natasha’s direction. Natasha’s lips curve up, slow and deadly right back. Bucky’s wings flutter a little, smirk stretching.

“Naturally,” Steve says a little lower, raising another eyebrow. “By flirting _badly?_ ”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky says, all exasperation and a raised eyebrow, “It’s an _art_.”

Steve’s eyebrows pull together. “It’s really not.”

“It really is,” Bucky fires back before smirking at him lewdly. “Like how your hair shines gold like the sun on a bright summer day.”

Steve flushes a little, wings twitching uncomfortably behind him, but he keeps his composure. “ _Uh-huh_ ,” he says flatly.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re _supposed_ to say something a little more intelligent _back_.”

“Because _that line_ was so intelligent?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised and expression flat.

Natasha covers her mouth with a hand to hide her smile while rising, sharing a look with Steve on her way to the elevator. Bucky’s wings sag a little.

“Aw, come on,” he calls after her, “We were just gettin’ started!”

“Maybe later, Barnes,” she replies casually, lips curving up as the elevator doors slide closed.

Bucky lets out a sigh, looking back up at Steve who’s smirking a little. “You know I have a thing for redheads,” Bucky says a little moodily.

“I do,” Steve replies lightly, moving to take the seat directly to his right.

They’re both quiet for a few minutes, just enjoying the companionable silence, the early afternoon sunlight coming in through the large windows.

Bucky finally asks, “So, you’re going on the mission?”

Steve lets out a quiet breath, nodding before looking over to him. “Yeah. I’m going to be gone a few days,” he answers, watching Bucky’s wings sag a little again while he looks off to the side. “Fury said you can stay here, if you’re not comfortable staying at the apartment by yourself,” Steve adds a little softer, wings twitching once in Bucky’s direction. He keeps them on his side of the chair.

Bucky scrubs his face with a hand before running it back through his hair, grimacing a little at its length but pushing his bangs out of his face. “Maybe,” he says a little softer after a few moments thought, looking around the room, “I mean, I wanted to stay here in the first place for the most part. But now that I’m back in it...I kind of just want to go back to the apartment,” he finishes a little quieter, finally glancing over at Steve.

Steve smiles softly, nodding once before pushing himself up out of the chair. “Then you can stay at the apartment,” he says, looking down at Bucky.

Bucky’s mouth flattens a little and he looks around the room again before looking back up at Steve. “I don’t know if it’d be a good idea,” he says after a moment, still quiet, “I mean it’s not like Agent 13 will be able to stop either of us if James or I decide to...leave.”

Bucky frowns a little as he says it, eyes a little sad, so Steve doesn’t take it personally. Knows he doesn’t mean that he wants to go back to Lukin or _Hydra_.

“It’ll be fine, Buck,” Steve says gentler, offering his hand down to him. Bucky looks at it for a moment before slowly taking it with his right, letting Steve pull him up. “Besides, I’m sure _Agent 13_ is more capable than you give her credit for,” Steve adds a little cryptically, smiling.

Bucky frowns a little, eyes narrowing briefly in suspicion before his lips twitch up in return and he shakes his head, pushing his hair back again. “Probably right,” he replies, smiling before frowning at the bangs that fall at the sides of his face. “How does he fucking put _up_ with this?”

Steve snorts, walking towards the elevator and away from Bucky’s half-hearted glare aimed in his direction. “Come on, Buck. I have to leave tonight,” he calls over his shoulder.

“I’m _comin’, I’m comin’_ ,” Bucky grouses back, hands shoved into his pockets, but when he steps into the elevator next to Steve, Steve can see he’s trying not to smile.

\--

“You be careful, alright,” Bucky says from Steve’s bedroom doorway.

Steve looks up, adjusting one of the straps on his uniform before smiling a little. “I will.”

Bucky sends him a look, crossing his arms over his chest, hair pulled back in a ponytail away from his face. Steve rolls his eyes, letting his hands drop to retrieve his shield from where it’s sat against the side of his bed, sliding it into place on his back. “I _will_ ,” Steve insists, picking up his helmet off of the bed, “Besides. I won’t be alone. I’m going with a highly trained strike team.”

“Like _that’s_ enough to keep you out of trouble,” Bucky grumbles, stepping aside when Steve moves to exit his room. “You had all of the _Howling Commandos_ with you before and you _still_ ran into gunfire before the rest of us.”

Steve pauses for a moment in the hall before he keeps walking, making himself huff out a breath.

Bucky still doesn’t offer much, if he’s remembered anything. And sometimes he’ll mention something new, but the amount he’s been remembering seems to be trickling down to less and less. Steve knows he won’t remember everything, and he’s trying to be fine with it, but it’s still hard. It makes the things Bucky _does_ remember more precious, even if Steve can remember most of it well enough for the both of them. It’s not quite the same as not being the _only_ one who remembers it all.

He can tell Bucky’s noticed his pause and is about to say something without having to look, apologize, maybe, when of the two of them it’s _Steve_ who should be apologizing, so Steve talks before he can.

“Yeah well, from what I hear, none of these guys can put away a drink like DumDum, but three out of five of them managed to land a hit on me in training by the time I was done with them.” When he turns around at the door, Bucky’s still got his arms crossed, standing five feet away and looking less than convinced.

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” Steve says a little softer, crossing the space between them to grab Bucky’s right shoulder, squeezing gently while leaning down to rest his forehead against Bucky’s. “Hey, Buck,” he says quieter. Bucky looks up at him a little reluctantly, “I’ll be extra careful. I won’t run into gunfire unless I have to and I’ll spend as long as I can being stealthy like you taught me.” When that only seems to comfort him a little Steve adds with a small smirk, “Like _Natasha_ taught me.”

Bucky’s wings relax a little at that where they’d gone stiff at his back, shoulders unhunching a bit and arms finally dropping to his sides. He nods against Steve’s forehead and Steve pulls back, smiling. He walks back over to the door, pausing to look back.

“Could you tell James where I went?” Steve asks. Bucky frowns a little. “I’m not sure how much, if any, he’ll remember when it’s his turn. And he might not care,” Steve adds, shrugging his wings maybe a little too nonchalantly if Bucky’s slightly increased frown is any indication, “But if he does, I don’t want him to freak out or think I’ve just abandoned him here. I didn’t get a chance to tell him I was going off on a mission before it was your turn. He might have put it together already, but…” Steve trails off, shrugging again.

Bucky stares at him for a long moment before finally nodding. “Yeah, I’ll let him know,” he says, before walking over to Steve after another moment and all but shoving him out the door. “Now _go_ ,” he says, “Or you’ll be late.” But Steve hears the: _or I’ll make you stay_.

Steve slips his helmet on and buckles it up while walking over to the stairwell, jumping up to perch on the railing and gripping it with one hand between his boots for balance. He grins at Bucky and gives him a lazy salute that Bucky manages to smile at before jumping over the edge and landing almost silent on his feet on the ground floor, sneaking out of the building and to his motorcycle after.

Bucky looks at the railing where Steve had just been, focusing his hearing to listen to the motorcycle start outside and the sound of the engine grow faint as Steve heads off for the S.H.I.E.L.D. building, only closing the apartment door when he can’t hear it anymore.

He stops next to the table, staring at the empty apartment for a long minute before heading to his room, opening up the webcam app and pausing.

He switches it to video then hits record.

\--

James jolts awake, shoves his undisturbed sheets off and pushes himself out of bed, padding silently out of his room to the bathroom, flicking the light on before turning on the faucet. He runs the water towards hot before cupping his hands under the stream and splashing it over his face, forcing his mind from the ice and cold that it lodged him into. He shuts the water off with a quiet sigh, leaning on the sink for a moment with both hands before looking up into the mirror, looks at the hair coming loose out of its ponytail and the strands of bangs sticking to the sides of his face.

He finally drags his eyes over from his hair to look at his face.

He’s seen it before, seen it with himself behind his eyes _and_ Bucky. Tonight, he saw-

He brings his left hand up and covers the lower half of his face, where his mask used to be. Stands up straight and pulls the hair tie out the rest of the way. Just stands there and looks.

He drops his left hand back to his side after a long minute.

They’ve both started shaving, so most of the facial hair is gone, he’ll be the one to do it today.

His hair is long, to his shoulders. He can’t remember it growing, just that he’s recently started noticing it. It didn’t used to matter. Wasn’t something he really paid attention to unless it got in his face during a mission, and even then it wasn’t a problem. He can make near all of his shots blindfolded. They trained him to.

There’s a small, light scar on his upper lip. All he knows is that it’s from dodging a blade. It could have come from training or a mission. From a target. From Natalia. He runs his tongue over it, feels the small indentation. He can just see the end of another scar stretching out the top of the collar of his black, long sleeved shirt.

He looks at his wings, the white of them, the feathers that need to be groomed soon.

He looks at his mismatched hands, the metal of one and the flesh and bone original of the other. Flesh and bone that he only has brief memories of also making up his left. Memories that aren’t his.

He looks to his shoulder, where he knows there’s a red star underneath the article of clothing. The one Bucky hides.

He looks at his eyes, where some of the ice has receded, the confusion, and they might be the most surprising change.

James turns and leaves the bathroom, flicking the light off as he goes before turning right, walking into Steve’s room passed the door he left open and around the bed to sit on the edge. He scoots back a little and lays down on his right side, half turning while bringing his arms up near his head and pressing his face into Steve’s pillow, closing his eyes to Natalia’s words sliding like molasses and bursts of fire in his mind.

The remnants of his nightmare are still there, waiting for him in the black, but the pillow smells like Steve and something in him relaxes anyway. Even lets him fall back asleep for once.

It’s raining hard when he wakes up maybe two hours later, room a drowsy gray and a few white feathers scattered here or there across Steve’s bed and the floor that he’ll have to pick up when he decides to move.

The rain’s a constant, even after an hour of him lying in Steve’s bed with his eyes half open, staring off at some of Steve’s clothes scattered on the floor across the room.

The rain makes the scarring around the metal above his shoulder hurt, the jagged circle on his body where Bucky’s flesh, blood, and bone arm and shoulder used to be. It makes him feel raw in a way he doesn’t like and he curls into himself, gripping Steve’s pillow and burying his face back into it, inhaling the mixed smells of its owner and himself while shrouding himself in his own white feathers. He finds he wishes it was Steve he was burying his face in and Steve’s black wings shrouding him instead.

\--

Bucky stares into the fridge for a long minute before sighing, closing the door and going to get changed, scratching his stomach idly through his shirt as he heads down the hall.

It’s not that there isn’t anything to eat. It’s that he doesn’t want to eat or spend time cooking what’s in there, and most of it’s so... _healthy_. He doesn’t want healthy, and he’s hungry _now_. Besides, if he-

He glances at the clock after pulling off his shirt, tossing it into the laundry basket without looking before darting over to his dresser. He needs to hurry if he’s going to make it in time.

\--

He flies around the Mall, sun starting to peek up over the horizon, sunglasses on and jacket, gloves, and hat in place. He darts his eyes around, looking. Maybe he missed- Ah. There.

He keeps his speed around what it would be if he was flying without the serum flowing through his veins, but beats his wings a little harder to pick up the pace and start closing the distance to his target.

“Don’t say it!” Sam calls back without looking, “We’ve been over this!”

“On your right,” Bucky says loud enough for him to hear, smirking when Sam’s sped up wing beats falter and he wavers in the air while Bucky passes him by on his right.

“ _What?_ ” Sam calls after him, but Bucky just grins and finishes the lap.

He waits for Sam around where Sam was waiting for him and Steve when they first met, but keeps himself out of view of the nearby traffic behind a tree trunk. Sam shows up eventually, panting and drenched in sweat with exhausted and shaky gunmetal wings.

“You-” Sam starts, but Bucky shakes his head, gesturing with it towards his right before he starts walking. He hears Sam let out an anguished groan before footsteps follow, Bucky’s lips quirking up.

Sam drops to the grass once Bucky finally stops and Bucky sits at the base of the tree near him, crossing his legs and waiting. When Sam finally looks up, still breathing heavy but gradually getting it under control, Bucky’s looking at him over the tops of his sunglasses, lips pushed out a little in a small pout. Sam eyes him suspiciously.

“What do you want?” he asks, “And where’s Steve?”

“Steeeve,” Bucky draws out, “Is on a mission for another day and a half. And I want food.”

Sam does a double take. “You really came out here and made me walk all this way to hit me up for food? What? Steve didn’t load the kitchen before he left?”

Bucky’s wings twitch, feathers dragging against the grass. “There’s food in the kitchen. It’s just…” he trails off, looking down to the side briefly before looking back at Sam. “It’s all _healthy_ or requires _cooking_. The last thing I cooked was beans over a fire on a ridge in _1944_.”

Sam’s wings give a jerk and his eyes widen briefly before he schools his expression, coughing once to try and cover his reaction even though it’s pointless. Bucky gets it. 1944. Nearly seventy years ago. History books. He looks good for his age.

“So...you don’t know how to cook, is what you’re telling me,” Sam sumizes.

“Something like that,” Bucky replies, still looking at Sam even though Sam’s eyes narrow suspiciously and he looks a little less than convinced.

“‘Something like that’?” Sam asks.

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, wings twitching a little. “It’s complicated,” he says a little defensively.

Sam raises his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright,” he says a little more gently. Bucky relaxes a little. “So, point is, you’ve got food you can’t really eat and you’re stuck until Steve gets back,” Sam sorts out. Bucky nods once.

“You want me to show you how?” Sam asks, sighing when Bucky shakes his head quickly. “You don’t want me over?” he fishes. Bucky’s eyes dart to the side again, wings twitching once, not saying anything. Sam sighs again. “Right. Well. I’m not taking you to my place. So. Have you tried Chinese food?”

Bucky perks up.

\--

He walks up the stairs, four bags of Chinese food on his arms and humming to himself, wings gently swaying to and fro with the random tune. Sam’s eyes had almost bulged when Bucky ordered enough to feed a small army ( _ha_ ) and made Sam pay for it (it’s not like _he_ has money). He’d just told Sam he’d tell Steve to pay him back when he got back from his mission. Sam’s wings had flared out and he’d looked about half a second away from protesting, but really, “It’s just _Steve_ ,” he’d reasoned. Or, well, maybe he stressed it a little forcefully. Captain America is one thing, but when people assume that’s _all_ Steve is and try to treat him as such, it ruffles Bucky’s feathers. Literally.

Agent 13 is coming out of her apartment when Bucky reaches the top of the stairs, pausing when she hears him and turning around. Bucky pauses as well when her eyes drop down to the four bags on his arms. She raises an eyebrow at him with her lips pulled up to one side and Bucky raises an eyebrow right back.

“I’ve got to eat, don’t I?” he asks, wings fluttering a little teasingly.

She still doesn’t roll her eyes, but she does put one hand on her hip, the other gripping her purse strap. “You don’t have food inside?” she asks.

“It’s not the same,” Bucky dismisses, raising his arms out and the heavy bags effortlessly, “Have you _tried_ Chinese food? Best thing since _caramel corn_.”

That gets her to smile, gold wings shifting a little behind her. Bucky moves aside when she makes to go down the stairs.

“We could…” he trails off, and she pauses to turn back and look up at him, “...Share some? Maybe? Not now. But. You know. _Later_.” She raises an eyebrow and he sighs loudly, eyes going heavenward while his wings sag a little in exasperation. He looks back down at her. “I used to be so much better at this, I swear.”

“Offering dinner or flirting?” She asks, eyes teasing and wings jittering a little playfully.

“Both,” he says, cracking a smile while his wings rise back up a little behind him.

Her smile softens slightly and her wings shuffle a little behind her, glancing to the side briefly before looking back. “Maybe,” she says, turning around to continue on down the stairs.

Bucky grins while he watches her for a moment before he heads into the apartment.

\--

He eats some of the Chinese with the added chopsticks the next morning while he watches James’ video reply at the table. It’s approximately five seconds long and consists of James staring blankly at the camera for three seconds then saying, “ _Fine_ ,” right before the video ends. Bucky switches the chopsticks to his left hand while hitting record with his right, making sure to roll his eyes after the recording starts.

“You really need to work on speaking more than one word, or two sentences if you’re feeling generous,” he says, eyebrows raised and expression flat. “Not that this isn’t still creepy as fuck, seeing my face but seeing _you_.”

He takes a bite of the pork before waving the chopsticks at the screen. “Just for that, I’m going to eat all of the pork and leave you _none_ ,” he says in the middle of chewing, just to rub it in.

\--

James frowns down at the beef in its white box container, poking at it once with his chopsticks before picking a piece and taking a bite, closing his eyes at the flavor while the app records. He opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow slightly at the camera. “ _Fine_ ,” he says, just to be difficult, smirking while he chews before stopping the recording and moving the file to the desktop.

\--

Bucky rolls his eyes and goes to put _Swan Princess_ in. It’s not Disney, but he’s discovered there’s some pretty good non-Disney animated movies in existence and that he needs to watch every single one of them (although he’s not sure he’s ready for _Anastasia_ ). He makes a mental note to marathon them with Steve when he gets back ( _when_ , not _if_ ).

His wings shuffle anxiously and he forces them to still.

\--

When he hears the lock on the door click late in the night, he sets the book pages down on his bed while he darts over to shut his bedroom light off quickly, stepping out of his room silently and peering around the left corner down the hall, eyes trained on the door.

Light spills into the apartment from the other end of it, a silhouette shadowed across the floor for a minute before the door is closed and the figure steps inside. He hears the sound of a buckle and then something hard set gently onto the table between the kitchen and the living room before a quiet, “Bucky? James? It’s Steve. I’m back.”

James steps out from around the corner and walks silently down the hall, only letting himself relax a little when he gets a good look for himself that it _is_ Steve. “You’re back,” he says quietly.

“I- Yeah,” Steve says around a forming smile, letting out a quiet breath. “I’m back.”

James lets out a quiet breath of his own.


	15. Smile at me

Steve blinks down at the mass of white take out boxes in the kitchen trashcan, staring for a moment before huffing a laugh, wings shaking with it. “Hey, Buck!” he calls over his shoulder, “Is this why Sam sent me a text? Something about ‘owing him big time’?”

When he looks over, Bucky’s still got his back to him, hair in a ponytail and eyes still on _Beauty and the Beast_ that’s just started playing.

“ _It might be?_ ” Bucky calls back, not looking.

Steve huffs a breath, laughing, and drops the empty coffee container in the recycle bag next to it, closing the lid.

\--

“Sorry if he caused you any trouble, Sam,” Steve says quietly into his cellphone halfway through the movie, shoving Bucky’s leg with a foot on the couch when Bucky takes a few seconds to stick his tongue out at him.

“ _Nah, it’s fine, man_ ,” Sam replies easily, “ _Your boy’s fine. Set me a bit straight, too_.”

Steve frowns a little, glancing up. Bucky looks away when he does a little _too_ casually.

“‘Set you straight’?” Steve asks, eyebrow raised in Bucky’s direction, who just focuses back on the movie.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Sam says, a smile in his voice, but he doesn’t elaborate. Bucky smiles a little at the screen, and Steve’s pretty sure it’s not because of the singing candelabra.

“Alright,” Steve says after a few moments, “Well, I should probably go. We’re in the middle of a movie. I just wanted to say sorry, and thank you.”

“ _No problem,_ ” Sam replies, “ _You two have fun_.”

“Thanks, you too,” Steve returns with a smile, hanging up and leaning to his left to set his cellphone down on the coffee table.

He leans back against the armrest, turning his head to the left on the cushion to watch the movie while burying his toes under Bucky’s thigh. Bucky’s left wing stretches over after he settles himself a little more comfortably against the back of the couch, brushing Steve’s gently just like they used to when they had to share an apartment for a while.

Steve smiles a little to himself, brushing Bucky’s back, knows Bucky’s smiling too, even if he doesn’t remember that particular memory. Right now, they don’t need it to enjoy the moment.

\--

Steve ends up watching the movie again with James the next day, Steve sitting on the couch and James sitting to his right on the floor with his back resting against the front of the couch, one of his newer, now frequently used living room sitting positions.

The Beast has just rescued Belle from the wolves when James speaks, “He said I was like the Beast,” he says, voice a little quieter than usual.

Steve frowns a little, looking down at him. “Bucky did?”

James nods once, eyes still focused on the screen.

Steve looks back to the movie, watching it shift from Belle and the Beast starting to understand each other to Gaston in the tavern while he thinks. “I guess...in some ways...yeah,” he says thoughtfully, mentally kicking himself when he catches James wings tensing slightly.

“He’s a monster,” James says quieter, flatter, “He only knows how to destroy, even what he doesn’t want to.”

His voice has gone the kind of flat that reminds Steve of when he was just The Winter Soldier, not yet James or Bucky, and that more than anything illustrates the differences that Steve sees in James now, all the signs that he’s become his own person, even if that person is still working on it. All of the changes he’s made so far. His small smiles, his slowly more expressive wings and expressions, his questions and love of music, his reading Steve’s books.

“He’s misunderstood,” Steve says after a few quiet moments only filled with the sound of selfish singing. James wings tense a little more. “He’s...No one really gets to know him, and he doesn’t _let_ anyone get to know him,” Steve continues, still quiet while he looks back at the screen for a moment, looking back to James, “It’s not that he’s really a monster, it’s that that’s all people let themselves see when they look at him, because they’re not really taking the time to actually _look_.”

James doesn’t say anything, is still tense, but Steve can see his eyes have dropped to the coffee table in front of them both in thought.

“Even _Bucky_ can be wrong sometimes,” Steve adds a little softer after another moment, offering a small smile when James sits up straighter and darts his head around to look at him, eyes a little wide.

They stare at each other for a long minute, neither saying anything.

James finally turns his head back around to look at the screen and Steve glances at it, too, watches Beast and Belle feed the brightly colored birds. He tries to ignore the clenching in his chest when Belle starts singing about "seeing something in the Beast she hadn’t seen before," snapped out of his thoughts when something nudges his right leg. Steve looks down, glancing from a white wing to James, who’s still looking at the screen. He finally glances over at Steve after a moment, just briefly.

“The feathers,” James says quietly, “I can’t reach them all.”

Steve frowns a little before it clicks and he gets it, eyes widening a little as he stares. The wing starts pulling back in and he darts a hand out but doesn’t grab, just brushes his fingers along the feathers and it freezes, relaxing against Steve’s fingers a little after a moment. Steve’s touched them before, has groomed them when it was Bucky, but...James isn’t Bucky, and somehow it feels like he’s touching them for the first time all over again.

He shouldn’t. It’s...Grooming with Bucky is one thing, they’ve known each other almost their whole lives, even if Bucky doesn’t remember it all. It’s familiar for both of them, like family. But James isn’t Bucky, he hasn’t known him nearly as long. This isn’t- He shouldn’t-

But James has never asked him before, might not even realize the intimacy of the action, not that Steve wants to play on that, but he gets the feeling that if he backs out from doing this, a door is going to shut that he won’t be able to get back open again, and he really doesn’t want that to happen. So, he takes a steadying breath and says, quietly, “It’ll be easier if you sit up here.”

James rises, calm but swift, and takes the seat on Steve’s right, stretching his left wing out in front of Steve but keeping it lower than his face so that Steve can still see the movie. It pulls at something in Steve’s chest and he finds the back of his eyes stinging a little. He reaches forward and starts sifting through the messy feathers.

They’re not terrible, but they’re definitely starting to edge into the ‘need to be groomed’ territory. James still doesn’t really seem to like to do it himself, that or he doesn’t really pay it much attention (and Steve still doesn’t want to think about the possibilities that go along with _that_ , that Hydra and Lukin might have buried their fingers in his feathers without a single thought for how he might _feel_ about it), and Bucky hasn’t asked him since that first time.

Steve cards his fingers through the feathers, fixing the ones that need it and gently removing the ones being pushed out by new ones, starting a small pile in his lap.

“You know…” he trails off after a few minutes, darting his eyes up to the movie and James now and then. James angles his head slightly, letting Steve know that he’s listening. “If Bucky meant you were like the Beast in that you’re kind of a mess, I can see what he meant,” he says lightly.

James freezes again minutely and Steve tries to keep the panic from his fingers, keep them steady and his heartrate down. He was joking, but James might not-

The wing he’s working on shoves gently into his face, sending the feathers he’s collected so far in his lap all over the couch and floor with it and Steve lets out a surprised sound, wings flaring out a bit.

Steve glances over and catches sight of James’ lips turned up before quickly forcing his mouth into a straight line when he catches Steve looking, eyes darting back to the screen.

Steve snorts after a moment, shoving the back of James’ head gently with his own right wing.

James’ lips curve up again, and Steve thinks he hears a huffed laugh, so he lets out his own laugh, smiling down at the feathers he goes back to working on.

They both end up cleaning up the mess of feathers after Steve’s finished with both wings, _Beauty and the Beast_ over and _A Bug’s Life_ started.

Neither of them are fond of that one and end up shutting it off halfway through.

\--

“Do you want to come to the grocery store with me?” Steve asks later that night, pulling his coat on where he’s standing next to the table and looking over at James, who is reading _on_ the couch for a change, one knee pulled up and the other folded in on the cushion in front of himself. James looks up over his shoulder.

“At night?” he asks, eyebrows pulled together a little.

“Yeah,” Steve says, smiling, “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I just thought...it’d be nice to get out of the apartment for a bit?” he tries, “And since it’s night on a weekday, there should be less people out.”

James’ eyes drop back to his book for a moment, finally closing it and getting up to put it back on the bookshelf before heading down the hall to his room. He comes out a couple minutes later, wearing jeans instead of sweatpants and the same black leather jacket he and Bucky have decided to keep, sunglasses, gloves, and hat on.

He must be watching Steve closely, because he didn’t come out with his helmet and Steve didn’t even have to tell him that they were walking there, which is both somehow so _normal_  and at the same time a jarring reminder that he’s living with someone who’s had to keep track of the small movements of others in order to kill them for the last seventy years or so.

Steve stares for a long moment, shaking himself and his wings out of it when James raises an eyebrow at him, wings twitching once faintly.

Steve grabs his own hat and fake glasses (that Natasha raised an eyebrow at, but he hasn’t had a problem with them _yet_ ) and puts them on. “Alright,” he says, “let’s go.”

Steve puts on his shoes and James puts on his boots and James follows him out, Steve locking the apartment door behind them.

James walks at his left as they head down the sidewalk, under the cover of streetlamps and stars, angled in just enough for Steve to notice that he seems to be guarding Steve’s left with his left arm. Steve doesn’t say anything, but he does nudge James’ right wing a little with his own, smiling a little when James looks over at him. At least he’s pretty sure James looked at him. His head angled towards Steve but the sunglasses are blocking his eyes, and it looks strange, him wearing them at night, but Steve’s pretty sure none of them would be comfortable with his face completely bare in public, so it’s something they’ll have to deal with. There _are_ less people out, but he’s not oblivious, and they both get their fair share of looks.

They come to a stop at a crosswalk and a woman just stopped at it before them with mahogany colored wings and similarly colored long hair hits the button for it while they wait.

James’ eyes dart around, taking in their surroundings and assessing threats, and when he looks back, there’s a man staring at him and Steve, hair and wings a sandy blonde color with a phone held up like he’d been texting on it. The man’s eyes dart between their wings, his own sandy ones ruffling up in indignation before his eyes meet James’ over the top of James' sunglasses.

James raises his own wings up a little, slowly, fanning the feathers out a bit while clenching his left fist.

The man freezes at whatever he must see in James’ eyes, wings dropping quickly after that, lowering more than where they would be if they were relaxed, and eyes darting to the side, head bowing slightly while he focuses back on his phone screen like it’s the most interesting thing in the universe.

The light changes and James feels a wing nudge into his right one. He looks over and Steve frowns a little while looking between James and the man before he nods his head forwards, starting to walk.

James lowers his wings and walks with him across the crosswalk, glancing back at the man briefly who’s crossing the street as well, but staying a good distance behind.

Steve doesn’t ask and James doesn’t say anything.

They cut through the parking lot of the 24 hour grocery store when they get to it and cross the threshold, the bright florescent lights dimmed by the sunglasses and the sudden abundance of... _things_ : sounds, people, smells overwhelming.

It reminds him both of various labs and his S.H.I.E.L.D. cell, the bright lights, the white tile, and for a moment, the sunglasses almost feel like goggles.

He doesn’t realize he’s stopped just inside the door until someone bumps into him and his body goes unnaturally still, cataloguing the person that hit him, assessing their threat level, _everything_.

“..-mes."

Mission parameters: unknown. What are his mission parameters? He doesn’t have any anymore.

A spot of black on the floor.

Black wings-

“James.”

He blinks, eyes adjusting to focus in on Steve’s, who’s standing close to his right but not too close, leaned in a bit to block most of his frontal view.

“Can you hear me?” Steve asks quietly, hand squeezing James’ forearm just enough to ground him.

He didn’t feel Steve grab his arm.

James blows out a slow breath, nodding once when it’s all out, body and wings still tense. He’s not exactly more relaxed, but he can focus. “Yes.”

Steve nods back, smiling a little. It’s strained, but somehow still-

“Do you want to go back?” Steve asks next, voice still quiet. He doesn’t gentle his voice like he’s talking to a small child and doesn’t soften his gaze like James is to be pitied. Something warm unfurls within the ice in his chest.

James shakes his head. “No,” he answers after a moment, quieter than Steve, “I want to stay.”

Steve nods again and slowly releases his arm. James’ wings start to shift forward at the loss of grip and he stops them before they can move more than a few centimeters.

“Alright,” Steve says a little louder, turning. James spots a couple of employees watching them warily, milling around by one of the store’s displays for soda cans, brown and red wings twitching nervously.

Steve spots them as well and gives them a smile before looking back at James, pausing at whatever he must read there, holding his hand out after a moment as people pass into the store and out of it around them.

James looks down at it for a moment before taking it - maybe a little more quickly than he intended - and his body loosens just the slightest bit, letting out another quiet breath. He was tense. Maybe that’s what Steve read from him.

James looks up and Steve smiles again, something just as warm as the last one but far less strained around the edges, a little more color in his cheeks before Steve’s turning his head away and gently tugging James further into the store with him. He goes willingly, eyes darting to the wary employees briefly before trying to focus on Steve instead. It’s not entirely hard to do.

Steve grabs a basket and they wander the store for a bit, Steve picking up a few things with one hand while holding onto James’ with the other, letting him orient and ground himself. Eventually, he starts occasionally asking James his opinion on what they get, if he wants anything, what _version_ of something he might want. It’d be a little overwhelming from anyone else, but Steve spaces out how often he asks and says it in a tone that calms James’ nerves instead of making them worse. By the time they get to the seafood area, his wings and body have for the most part untensed and he’s not overly concerned about who stares at them or why, the occasional murmurs behind their backs. He still notices them, but he instead chooses to focus on Steve, the way he handles things with care because he knows he can easily break the apples he turns over in his hands and the squash he could literally squash, and the way he turns to James to ask him things, like what he thinks he might like to try based on what something looks like or the way something smells or feels in his hands (metal _and_ flesh under the gloves).

It’s dangerous, letting himself loosen this way, especially in public, that Steve can even get him to without the intention or any hidden motivations makes it even more so.

But it’s also...nice. He wonders briefly if this is how Natalia has been living since they parted, if she goes to grocery stores like this one with someone and revels and wonders and fears at being treated like she matters, like she has an opinion worth hearing, like she has _options_.

It’s overwhelming and it’s terrifying, but it also makes something blossom in his chest that he didn’t know was there, just like-

His train of thought is cut off when he catches sight of the tanks full of live fish, lobsters, crabs. Living creatures floating in small, glass cages.

He must freeze outwardly, because Steve has moved a little closer to his side like he did earlier, eyes following his line of sight.

“Oh, shit,” Steve curses in a quiet mutter, looking from the tanks back to him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that. I don’t usually come back this far into the store.”

James wings give a twitch, eyes focused on the tanks. He walks forward, past Steve, letting go of his hand so he can go over to them, hearing Steve follow a moment later.

He stops a foot in front of the tanks, stares at all of the critters moving, swimming, clawing at the old, battered glass.

“Hello,” an employee greets after a few moments, voice a high, routine welcome. James doesn’t look. “Can I help you?”

“Uh,” he hears Steve let out, “We, uh-”

“We’ll take all of them,” James cuts in, quietly.

“I- What?” the lady asks, and James looks up over the top of his sunglasses. The woman’s blonde wings freeze mid-flutter.

“I said, we’ll take all of them. Alive,” he repeats lowly, tone brooking no argument.

“I-” she glances between Steve and James before nodding once, wings fluttering again as she sets herself into motion, flitting back to a counter to pick up a phone.

He feels Steve come up on his right, a wing very lightly brushing his. “I’ll pay for this, somehow,” James says quieter, keeping his eyes on the fish swimming rapid loops in front of him.

He hears a quiet laugh and risks a glance over, only to find Steve smiling at the fish in a way that James can’t quite decipher, can only barely make out something old and bitter in the twist of his lips and the look in his eyes. He looks over at James after a moment.

“I can afford it,” Steve says. James raises an eyebrow slightly. “Backpay,” Steve explains, looking back to the fish while the woman talks with someone about arrangements on the phone.

James shifts her conversation to background noise, focusing instead back on the fish as he listens to Steve.

“They kept up my checks, even after I crashed the plane,” Steve continues quieter, “And I’m working for S.H.I.E.L.D. now, which doesn’t pay bad either, or so I’ve learned about today’s economy. But even if I couldn’t…” he trails off. James glances over to him again and Steve eventually looks back, eyes holding that same old something but also something worn that James can practically feel down in his bones, wonder if that’s the Bucky part of him calling out. They are, after all, technically just as old as that something in Steve’s eyes. “Even if I couldn’t, I’d find a way,” Steve finally says, eyes eventually shifting back to the fish, “Life doesn’t have a price tag.”

James’ wings give a sharp jerk and he forces them to still when Steve looks over, Steve's eyes then going back to the employee when she comes back over, James only looking to her after Steve does.

“Are you with a catering service?” she asks, expression a little pinched, “I’ve never had to do this for a private order before,” she adds, blonde wings jittering nervously behind her.

Steve gives her a winning smile, one that belongs in a newsreel, and straightens up. “Yes,” he lies, and it surprises James a little, “We’re scouting seafood selections for a fundraiser being put on by Tony Stark. You can confirm with him, if you like.”

The woman’s wings flare out a little before she smiles, waving a hand quickly, “That’s quite alright. I’ll have them sent over to the Stark building in the city tomorrow?” she asks.

“Sounds great,” Steve says with that same smile. Bucky never said he could be charming like this if he needed to be. Not even Lukin told him that. “That should about wrap us up,” Steve says, turning to him, “Shall we?”

James nods once after a moment and Steve smiles one more time at the flustering woman, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink that James doesn’t like before they both turn and Steve leads the way to a check out, wings only swaying this way and that once they’ve entered an empty isle.

“You lied,” James states, mouth pulling down a little at the corners in bemusement. Steve looks over to him.

“Yup, I did,” Steve says freely, lips curving up in a small smirk, “And now Tony Stark’s going to get a surprise delivery.”

James’ wings flare a little, looking over at Steve over the top of his sunglasses. “What will happen to them?”

Steve’s smirk eases back down into a soft smile. “I’ll head over to Stark’s nearest Industry office tomorrow where the fish will be delivered and have them trucked back to the ocean.”

James’ wings perk up a little. “Can I help release them?”

Steve blinks, surprised, but smiles again with a nod. “Sure, as long as we keep you out of sight of Tony.”

James’ lips twitch up in return and Steve’s smile widens further when it does.

\--

“You did _what?_ ” Bucky asks incredulously, face scrunched up a little and one eyebrow up, wings flared out.

“I bought the entire live seafood selection at the nearby grocery store?” Steve repeats, lips twisting a little, one side up and the other side down, paused in eating his cereal at the table.

Bucky stares at him for a long minute before taking the seat opposite him, hands on the table and eyes on the wood of it, looking up to him after a moment. “James wanted you to buy out the whole _seafood department?_ ”

Steve frowns a little, looking down into his cereal bowl while he pushes a few honeynut cheerios around. “They were in glass cages, Buck,” Steve says a little quieter, “I don’t think James liked it.” When he looks back up, Bucky’s eyes are back on the table, wings tense at his back.

After a few moments, Bucky lets out a sigh, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head back while he brings up his right hand to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “What are you going to do about Stark?” he asks.

Steve takes a bite of cereal, thinking while he chews. Bucky lifts his head up enough to send him a look. Steve gestures at his mouth with his spoon and freehand and Bucky just rolls his eyes, sitting back up. Steve swallows down his bite of cereal.

“I’m pretty sure Tony will let me borrow a truck to take them down to the docks,” Steve says, “And I can just pick up you or James on the way there. If not…” Steve trails off, rolling scenarios around in his head while he looks down at the table. He finally looks back up, shrugging a little with his shoulders and wings. “Then I’ll just ask the drivers to wait somewhere else after they take the trucks down and sneak James in. Get them to leave and we can put the fish and crabs and lobsters and everything else back in the water.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Gee, you make it sound _so easy_.”

Steve frowns a little. “It _is easy_.”

“You said that about a street fight I actually remember pretty clearly going sideways on us. It ends in a blur,” Bucky deadpans, expression flat.

Steve’s wings twitch and he frowns a little more, rolling his eyes after a moment. He’s glad Bucky remembers, but honestly. “It won’t go sideways, Buck.”

Bucky’s quiet for a long minute, unmoving. Steve’s wings gradually twitch more and more the longer Bucky just stares at him.

“It’s definitely going to go sideways,” Bucky finally says, pushing himself up out of the chair, “Everything we do goes sideways. Somehow. Whether it’s big or small, something’s going to happen and the result is going to be something none of us wants to deal with.”

Steve lets out a loud sigh, wings jerking once with it. Bucky pauses at the side of the table, a line between his eyebrows. Steve looks up.

“Maybe,” Steve admits. Bucky frowns a little. “But that’s the risk of either of you being here, one that I’m _gladly living with_ ,” Steve emphasizes when Bucky opens his mouth. Bucky closes it again, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I can’t hide him from the world forever, you either. I know something, eventually, _will_ happen. And neither of you will remain a secret.”

“And if Hydra finds out?” Bucky asks quieter, voice a little strained when he continues, “Lukin? I can’t go back there Steve. I don’t remember everything, but I- I won’t go back there.” Bucky’s hands have returned to his sides and Steve can see them curling into fists in his periphery. He bites his tongue briefly to settle himself.

“You won’t go back there, Bucky,” Steve says firmly, pushing himself up from his own chair. Bucky’s expression wavers for a brief moment and Steve takes a small step closer. “I won’t _let you_ go back there. They only got you the first time because I-” Steve cuts himself off, eyes dropping to the side. He takes a steadying breath before looking back, can see Bucky’s mask cracking. “It won’t be like that this time. I’m not letting go,” Steve says strongly, wings tensing at his back with it, “And if you fall again, I’m falling after you. I won’t let you be alone again,” he finishes quieter, but no less steel in his voice, no less a promise.

Bucky’s mask finally falls away, expression crumbling, and he takes a step forward, Steve already moving to envelop him in a hug. Bucky’s arms come up around his waist, grip tightening as Steve’s does. “You can’t promise that,” Bucky says in a near whisper, “You can’t promise any of it.” Steve makes himself huff a breath, but his heart is clenched in his chest.

“Have you met me, Buck?” Steve jokes softly, bringing his wings around after a moment to barricade Bucky in white, continuing seriously, “I know you remember enough to know that’s not true. If I don’t think something’s right, I do something about it. If I say I’m going to do something, I damn well do it. If anything gets in my way, I take it down. So when I say I’m never leaving you alone like that again, you’re not ever going to be. If I say you’re not going back there, then you’re never going back there.” Steve pulls back a little, just enough to look Bucky in the eye.

It takes a moment for Bucky to do the same, to pull back, to look at Steve, but he does it. He always does it.

“I’m _not_ going to let it happen,” Steve says, looking at him, “You’re my _best friend_ , Buck. You’re my family. I won’t let you go through that again, and nothing is going to stop me from keeping that promise.”

Bucky looks up at him for a long moment, eyes a little shiny in the soft light of the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the closed blinds and mouth pinching hard on one side like he’s biting the inside corner of his mouth. Eventually, he shoves his face into the space between Steve’s neck and shoulder, holding onto Steve tight with his wings pressed tightly to his back. Steve still feels them trembling against his own where they’re wrapped around them both, though, presses his own closer.

“We really need to stop having these tearjerkers, Stevie,” Bucky says, slightly joking, muffled into Steve’s tshirt.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh, shifting his right arm up above Bucky’s wings to wrap around the back of his shoulders, pulling him in a little closer. Bucky goes willingly, lets him, despite his words. If Steve hadn’t known it already, that more than anything lets Steve know that he doesn’t mean it.

“They’re not so bad,” Steve says a little lighter, voice quiet, resting his chin near the side of Bucky’s head and just breathing him in. It’s been so long since Steve was able to just...absorb being with Bucky in the same _space. Alive._ The past few weeks aside. If he closes his eyes he could pretend it’s 1940 all over again, but he tries not to. “Besides, _you’re_ the one that’s gettin’ all teary eyed,” Steve teases.

One of Bucky’s wings jerk back into Steve’s in retaliation and Steve smiles a little against the side of Bucky’s head where Bucky can feel it.

“Shuddup, ya sap,” Bucky muffles back, but he doesn’t pull away, and Steve doesn’t either.

\--

“I’m going to go see if I can borrow one of Stark Industries’ trucks,” Steve says, pulling on his coat and grabbing his keys off of the center of the table, “I’ll get it, somehow, and come back to pick you up, alright?”

James nods from where he’s perched on the back of the couch, like a gargoyle statue, knees pulled up to his chest and hands gripping the back of the couch on either side of himself, wings pulled in and feathers trailing down the cushions. Steve’s not even going to ask how he’s able to do that in the first place. Their enhanced strengths and abilities might be very similar, but James is far more feline than Steve may ever be. That, and he doesn’t want to think about how they trained him to do it. Hydra, Steve’s learned, isn’t a kind teacher.

“Alright, I’ll be back,” Steve says with a small smile, heading out the door and locking it behind himself.

When Steve gets to DC’s Stark Industries tower, there are-

Actually, the fish are in the lobby, and that slows Steve’s steps for a moment before he heads over to the lobby’s secretary station, who’s surveying the array of large tubs with an eye of skepticism, like she couldn’t believe her job could be this strange. That, or maybe not strange enough, considering who she’s working for. Steve doesn’t really want to find out.

“Hello,” he says to get her attention. Her eyes slowly drag over to him, widening a little, and straightening up in her seat, when she realizes who he is. “I’m here to pick up the fish.”

“AHA!” Steve hears and holds in a sigh, keeping his wings still as he slowly turns towards the other side of the room.

“So _you’re_ the culprit behind the fish in my lobby,” Tony says, smirking like he’s won something, but Steve’s not sure what.

“Guilty,” Steve says a little flatly. Tony raises an eyebrow but his lips quirk up in a dangerous way. Steve wishes he actually knew Tony well enough to read him better, if _only_ for that (and maybe a little for Howard, too, but he does know Tony just well enough to realize how big of a mistake _that_ would be if he mentioned it).

“You’ve learned some sarcasm while we’ve been apart,” Tony says, placing a hand over his arc reactor, “Rogers, I didn’t know you _cared_.”

Steve just barely keeps from rolling his eyes. He almost forgot how hard that was to keep himself from doing around Tony. He needs a longer vacation from him.

“Who says I didn’t know it already?” Steve asks, stepping away from the secretary’s area to meet Tony in the center of the room near the tubs of fish (and other things). Tony’s eyebrows jump up, dark brown wings with their ends painted in red with an edge of gold on the tips over _those_ fluttering a little, delighted, a contrast against his dark blue suit.

“You have to tell me who you’ve been hanging out with, Rogers,” Tony says, lips pulling up, “Because I know _Ms. Romanoff_ and _Mr. Barton_ haven’t been the ones bringing out all of this hidden sass.”

Steve keeps himself from freezing, instead raising an eyebrow, setting his hands on his hips.

Tony holds his stare for a long minute before conceding and rolling his eyes with a dramatic sigh. Steve doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Fine, fine, don’t tell me. ...Yet,” Tony adds, lips pulling up more on one side. “So,” he says after another minute of them eyeing each other, “I take it you need help transporting these friends of yours.”

Steve lets his hands drop back to his sides, looking over at the fish. “As a matter of fact, I do,” Steve replies, looking back over at him, “Can I borrow one of your trucks?”

Tony’s smirk widens. “Why my good Captain,” he says, wings fluttering again behind his back. It’s worrying. He’d be more worried if Tony wasn’t, for the most part, on the team of the good guys. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And yet somehow, Steve still feels like he’s going to regret asking him for this favor.

\--

Tony has Steve’s motorcycle taken back to his apartment (after some reluctance from Steve) and Steve follows behind in the truck, the men who drop off his motorcycle gone before he can thank them. He goes up to the apartment to get James, already in his hat, sunglasses, jacket, boots, and gloves, and they head down to the docks.

When they dump the fish and crabs and lobsters back in the water, James doesn’t say a word, and when Steve glances over, James is watching the fish disappear beneath the surface of the water over the tops of his sunglasses, eyes focused but somehow distant at the same time.

Steve turns his eyes back to the water and wonders what he sees.

\--

“So, what do you have for us Doctor Shurin?” Steve asks, standing next to Bucky in her office.

She looks up from the file she’s got in her hands, glasses perched on her nose and brown hair in a ponytail, equally brown wings shifting a little before she speaks. “I’m afraid I can only tell my patient,” she says, apologetic, “If he chooses to tell you after, that’s his choice, but I’m going to have to ask that you give us privacy.”

Steve pauses, looking to Bucky and nodding back when Bucky nods once to him, exiting the office even though he doesn’t want to and walking down to the end of the hall so he can’t eavesdrop on their conversation. He wishes he could listen in, help somehow, but Steve forces himself to wait.

Natasha ends up finding him a few minutes later. He’s kind of given up on the _how_ at this point.

“You get kicked out?” she teases, coming to a stop a couple feet in front of him.

Steve lets out a breath, wings shuffling a little anxiously behind him. “Something like that."

Her lips quirk up a little and she nods, glancing to her right down the hall towards the doctor’s office. “Clint’s been asking after you,” she says after a minute, looking back to him, “Says he has a whole list of movies that you two need to watch.” She raises an eyebrow and he blows out another breath, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I know I haven’t...been around much,” he says a little quieter, glancing down the hall before looking back to her, “I’ve just been focused on getting Bucky and James…” he trails off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

She makes a quiet, agreeing sound, crossing her own arms over her chest and looking down the hall again. “It’s fine that you need to take the time. Good, even, that you give him something familiar to focus on, to ground him. If anyone was the best person for the job, it’s you.” His wings twitch and she looks back to him, her own as still as Fury’s usually are.

She’s easier for him to read now, if only a little, but still difficult. She doesn’t tend to give herself away in her eyes or her wings, not like most everyone else. Sometimes he wonders if Natasha's hiding, trying to keep others out, or if she’s protecting herself. Sometimes he thinks it might be all three.

“But what about time for you?” she asks, and Steve stands up from the wall, dragged out of his thoughts.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I mean,” she starts, letting her hands drop back to her sides, “You’ve opened up in a lot of ways since he came back, but you’ve also closed yourself off again, too. Like before.”

Steve glances off to the side, not saying anything.

“You’re doing it right now,” she says, drawing his eyes back to her

He looks at her for a moment, frowning a little at her stare. He uncrosses his arms, shaking his wings out a little. “Maybe,” he says, wincing a little at her raised eyebrow.

“You’re acting a lot like when we first met,” she says, blunt and to the point, “You keep to yourself, and even when you’re talking with someone, your mind is somewhere else. You don’t interact with anyone much and you hole yourself away in your apartment. I’m not saying you haven’t changed, but your regressing behavior is noticeable.”

His wings shift a little and he looks at the floor for a long minute, going over her words. His eyes eventually shift up to Doctor Shurin’s door down the hall and he holds in a breath for a moment before finally looking back to Natasha. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and she raises her hand to grip his forearm gently, eyes a little softer. He closes his mouth.

“It’s okay to help him,” she says, quieter, “But you need to help yourself, too.”

It’s said softly, but it still feels like a knife to his heart, something warm and piercing and _painful_. Because, somewhere deep down, he _knows_. He never puts himself first, not when it matters, and maybe he’s put himself far further down than _second_ since he woke up. Not that he isn’t selfish, but he _has_ been ignoring himself. For a long while now.

His breath catches in his throat and he tries to swallow past it attempting to close, eyes dropped to the floor again. His wings move and angle towards her and he forces them to stop, but before he can pull them all the way back, her red ones enter his periphery, brushing the edges against his own. He lets out a choked, quiet breath, closing his eyes for a moment to absorb it and try to steady himself. It’s rare for her to show any affection in public like this, he knows it is, and he’s grateful she considers him a friend enough to do it with him. He brushes her wings back in return, opening his eyes again to look at her.

She squeezes his forearm gently before letting go, pulling her wings back with her hand. He pulls his own back as well, smiling a little, small and honest. She smiles back, just as small and real, eyebrow quirking up after a few moments. “How about a date?”

Steve’s wings flare, eyes widening a little as he stands up straight. “With you?” he asks, incredulous.

She lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head a little. “No, with Laura from tech.”

Steve frowns a little, glancing to the floor in thought. “I don’t think that’d be such a good idea-”

“Or Ian, from guard,” she cuts him off.

His eyes shoot up to her face, mouth hanging open a little. “I don’t- How did-” He tries, but she just smiles, a little smug, one eyebrow raised. He lets out a sigh. “I don’t know if that’d be such a good idea either.”

“Think about it,” she just says, both of them turning to look when they hear the door open down the hall. Bucky comes out looking- Oh. That would explain why he was taking so long, if the doctor had to explain things twice.

James walks towards them, and Steve hears his steps go lighter and sees his movements go dangerously looser the moment his eyes land on Natasha. Steve’s curiosity gives a small rise in his chest, but he tamps it down, like usual, before it can get too far. It’s not his place to ask.

“Natalia,” James says, low and quiet when he comes to a stop a few feet away. Though standing more on Steve’s side of the hall than hers, Steve notices.

“James,” she returns, inclining her head slightly.

They stare at each other, James blankly and Natasha a little smugly before she breaks the staring contest first to give a small, knowing smile to Steve, turning and heading away. “Think about what I said,” she says before she gets too far, knowing Steve will hear it.

He lets out a breath and looks over to find James staring at him, wings raised slightly in what might be his version of alarm. Steve smiles back.

“It’s nothing,” he says, “You ready to go?”

James stares at him for another long moment before nodding, walking with Steve to the elevators so they can head back down to the parking garage.

Steve doesn’t ask about what he and Doctor Shurin talked about, and James doesn’t offer. Steve pushes down the churning in his gut and tries to push away Natasha’s words, but James’ arms tighten a little around his middle as they maneuver the motorcycle, body moving with Steve’s as they turn a corner, and it’s hard to do.

\--

Steve moves quickly and picks up his cellphone vibrating on the table, answering it while he rushes back to the stove to stir the cartoon shaped macaroni, lips quirking up despite himself. He had to buy eight boxes in order to have enough for the two of them - and it was expensive - but he’s looking forward to trying them. Bucky said something about wanting to crush the dog noodles between his teeth, and Steve tries not to think about the look in his eye when he’d said it.

“Hello?” he asks into the phone.

“ _We think Hydra’s made a bolder move_ ,” Fury says, cutting to the chase.

Steve stands up straighter and his wings stiffen briefly, finishing stirring the macaroni before turning off the burner. “Where?”

“ _London_.”

“I’ll be there in thirty,” Steve returns, hanging up and setting his cellphone on the counter, catching sight of Bucky coming over out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ll take care of the noodles,” Bucky says, already going for the pot to take it to the sink, putting the lid on first and grabbing two pot holders.

“Thanks,” Steve says in relief, darting down the hall to his room to change.

When he comes back out, Bucky’s got a huge bowl of macaroni in his lap where he’s sitting on the couch, _Lilo and Stitch_ playing.

 _That_ had been an interesting night. For the both of them.

Bucky looks over while Steve adjusts one of the straps that holds his shield, helmet dangling from his fingers. He sets his bowl on the coffee table and reaches down to grab something, hopping over the back of the couch with Steve’s shield.

Steve smiles as he hands it over. “Thanks,” he says again, slipping it into place on his back, shifting his wings out of the way.

Bucky hums a response, looking over his uniform critically.

Steve swings a wing at him and Bucky blocks it with his own, frowning up at Steve. “You be careful, Stevie.”

“I will, Buck,” Steve says, smiling, “Just save me some macaroni.”

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest, glancing towards the kitchen in mock thought before looking back. “No promises.”

Steve smacks him with his wing this time and Bucky huffs a laugh. It’s good to hear it.

Steve puts his helmet on and buckles it as he heads for the door, taking a moment to swipe his keys on the way. “Be back in a few days,” Steve says, turning back at the door. “You’re good here?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re good. Just go, and come back in one piece,” Bucky says mock sternly, but there’s honesty in his eyes.

Steve smiles back, giving him a lazy salute. “Yessir,” he says, opening the door, “Just save me some macaroni!” he calls back.

“ _No promises!_ ” Bucky repeats, half yelling down the hall.

Steve grins, hopping over the stairwell railing.


	16. I don't like your human

_“He’s gone on a mission. Said he’ll be back in a few days. It’s Hydra. Don’t go after him.”_

Bucky pauses in the video, frowning a little more.

_“Also. Save the macaroni in the fridge. It’s his.”_

The video ends and James stares at the frozen picture of Bucky for a moment before closing out of it, getting up, and heading out of his room to go investigate this ‘macaroni’.

(He doesn’t eat it, but he does find four extra boxes in the cupboard and his wings flutter.)

\--

“Everyone in position?” Steve whispers into his ear comm.

_“Team A’s a go.”_

_“Team B’s in position, Cap.”_

“Alright, on three.”

Steve counts out and then they’re all moving in, Steve stepping off of the building’s roof ledge and catching himself on the eighth floor’s window frame, lifting himself up enough to quietly get the window open and then lift himself inside, pulling his shield off of his back and keeping his steps light.

There’s the sound of fingers _clack-clack_ -ing on keyboards coming from the next room.

\--

Bucky huffs a sigh, dropping his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again to stare up at the ceiling, wings splayed out across the cushions while he counts the minute shifts in the paint he can see, huffing another breath when he gets to fifty and shoving himself up.

He paces around the apartment for a while, wings slowly getting more and more twitchy and body more and more tense as time passes.

He ends up in his and James’ room, changes into a pair of jeans, slips into his jacket, and shoves his sunglasses and hat into the pockets of it, pulling the gloves on before he heads to the front door, slips his feet into his boots and leaves the apartment, walking to the left and stopping in front of Agent 13’s door.

He stares at the number on it, eyes tracing over the gold ‘7’, before he takes a steadying breath and raises his hand (right) and knocks.

It opens after a minute and Bucky tries to be relaxed as it reveals its occupant, her golden wings flaring out and eyes widening a little. “Bucky...?” she asks, wings stiffening just the slightest and eyes unsure.

Bucky puts on an easy grin and tries to hide his nerves, his anxiety, his reaction. “I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch?” he asks, words managing to come out easy.

She relaxes again, raises an eyebrow after a moment while one side of her lips pull up a little more than the other. “Are you trying to get me to buy you food?”

“No!” he says quickly, wings giving a jerk before he ducks his head a little, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand underneath his ponytail. “Maybe a little,” he confesses, looking back up, “But I want the company. Steve’s only been gone since last night but it’s...too _quiet_ ,” he says, coming out a little more plaintive than he intended. But she just smiles softly and glances to the side in thought, looking back after a moment.

“Alright,” she agrees, “Order in or go out?”

“Either,” he says, relief slipping into his voice as he stands back up straight and smiles. He’ll take almost _anything_ if it means getting out of his own head for a while.

She nods once and grabs her coat from the hall closet. He slips his hat and sunglasses on from his pockets and they head out.

They end up at a little hole in the wall kind of place, the crowd easygoing, keeps to themselves. Only a few of the patrons give them a cursory look (give _his wings_ a cursory look) as they’re seated before going back to their own meals or conversations and it’s... _weird_.

Him and Agent 13 both end up trying to go for the same seat, the one that has the best angle of the whole joint with the wall to their back. They both stare at one another for a moment while their host takes their leave, and Agent 13, maybe out of sympathy, finally relents and lets him have it.

It rubs him a little the wrong way, the action, and that he feels the need to position himself with the best angle at _all_ , but he needs it too much to put up an argument about it.

“So,” she starts, after they’ve ordered and their waiter has left.

He tenses briefly where he’s playing with sugar packets ( _sugar packets_. He vaguely remembers having to save up for a long time just to get a _bag_ , and now they’re _handin’ it out_ like it’s _free_ ), eyes darting up to her over the top of his sunglasses.

He waits for a shrink question he doesn’t want to be asked, because “so” never leads to anything good.

“How are you finding 2014 so far?” she asks, a pleasant smile on her face.

He lets out a breath, wings relaxing again at his back while he starts fiddling with the sugar packets again. It’s still not the best question, but he can work with it.

Bucky pauses to dart his eyes around the restaurant briefly before looking back to her. “I haven’t seen much of it,” he confesses, glancing down at the table for a moment before looking back up, raising an eyebrow, “But the food is great, and television is _wonderful_.” It’s mostly meant to distract, and it works. She laughs quietly, wings shifting with it, and he smiles a little, raising a wing once in a shrug after her laughter has died down. He sits back in his chair, leaving the sugar packets abandoned briefly on the table. “It’s louder. There’s more people, newer versions of things. But a lot is still the same.”

She leans on her elbow on the table, chin in hand while she looks at him, other forearm resting on the cool wood. “Like what?” she asks.

He looks at her for a moment, glancing around the restaurant again before leaning forward on his forearms on the table, leaning in and lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Well for one...” he near whispers, shaking his wings a little behind him. Her eyes flash to them and her smile lessens a little, looking back to his face.

“Things have gotten better, but…” she acknowledges, trailing off, eyes glancing around at some of the other patron’s wings.

Brunette, blonde, red, Agent 13’s gold, all varying shades. Bucky’s are the only ones that are white in the whole place. No one’s staring, which is...still weird for him, but it’s...He’s not used to not being stared at for it. He knows it still happens a lot, would happen more if he left the apartment more often, but this is one of the few places he’s visited that doesn’t have much of that.

She looks back to him. “But, you’re right, things haven’t changed completely since you were last...here,” she substitutes, “Some things have mostly stayed the same, even with the influence of our mutual friend, and not necessarily for the better.”

His lips twist up a little bitterly, but then he catches sight of their waiter coming over and he takes a moment to busy himself with putting the sugar packets away, bitterness gone by the time there’s a plate full of food being set down in front of him.

Not many would actually say anything about the color of Steve’s wings to Steve’s face, at least the color that they know about. But the rest them who _aren’t_ Captain America?

The food’s good, at least, in the future, if not everything else.

\--

Steve uncoils and brings his shield around to set it back into place on his back, eyes going over the computer monitors. He catches movement and light in the corner of his eye but doesn’t look over, Rumlow and the rest of the team spilling into the doorway, guns and guide lights lowering as they file into the room around the unconscious or dead Hydra agents.

Steve focuses on the computers while a few of the men head over to investigate them, leaning over keyboards to type in commands while Rumlow comes up to stop at his right side.

“Anything interesting?” Rumlow asks.

“Not much,” Steve replies, “Most of the rooms were empty. I did find a map with points marked on it, could be connected bases.” And didn’t _that_ take him back. He looks over to see Rumlow nod once, dark brown wings still. Rumlow looks over.

“We’ll send the info to HQ,” Rumlow says, gun at rest across his front, hands loose but ready on it, “Get a read of it and check the matching map points.”

Steve nods once and they both turn back to the team.

\--

“Macaroni?” she asks with a smile in her voice. Bucky grins at her back as they head up the stairs, Agent 13 a couple steps ahead of him. He still doesn’t know her name.

“It’s up there with Chinese food,” he confirms. She lets out a quiet laugh as they step onto the fourth floor’s landing, Bucky following her over to walk her to her door. Some habits, half remembered or not, die hard. “That place we went to though, it wasn’t half bad,” he adds, teasing with another, small grin.

She smiles again as she turns to him, clearly wanting to roll her eyes, but doesn’t. It reminds him of someone, but he can’t quite place who. He shrugs the thought away for now, he’ll come back to it later.

“I had a good time,” he says honestly, grin easing into a smile. It still feels a little weird on his face, like it’s imposed over something else - probably from a lifetime ago - but he’s getting used to it. It’s been easier, with Steve around, even if Bucky still doesn’t exactly think it’s _safe_ to be around him. “So...thank you,” he adds after a moment, “It was nice to...feel a little more _normal_ again.”

Her smile softens and her wings give a small shake. “I had a good time, too.”

His smile widens a little and hers does as well, and he watches her turn to unlock her door and get it open. He wants to take a step forward, walk her all the _way_ to her door, but he keeps himself still, wings twitching once while she’s not looking.

“Say, do you-” he cuts off. She pauses, turning back around from inside her doorway, one wing rising a little in a question. He clears his throat, swallowing once. “Do you...want to do this again sometime?” He asks, wincing internally. He _knows_ he used to be better at this, used to be smooth, had dames agreeing and swept off of their feet in a flash. Now he’s just...like he might be a _kid_ all _over_ again, even though he doesn’t remember it.

Her lips quirk up after a moment, one eyebrow rising a little while her wings shift. He gets that feeling like it reminds him of someone again - a small tug in his gut - but he still can’t place _who_.

“Macaroni?” she asks, one side of her mouth rising a little more than the other, a playful look in her eyes.

He smirks back, wings shifting once. “Sure. I’ll cook,” he agrees, “Ovens haven’t changed a whole lot, so I’m guaranteed not to burn anything down.”

She laughs again, quietly, and nods, turning to walk farther into her apartment before turning back and resting her hand on the door. “Alright. See you sometime this week?”

He nods, smiling again. “Sometime this week,” he confirms.

She nods back, starting to close her door. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

“Goodnight, _Agent_ ,” he says with a playful smirk. He sees her lips curve up a bit more just before the door closes.

He heads over to Steve’s apartment, steps light as he opens the door silently before slipping in just as quiet, keeping the lights off as he closes it quickly. He makes sure not to make any noise as he slips down the hall, eyes and ears alert, stopping at the end of it and darting a look around the open room ahead, cautiously over the top of his sunglasses.

Steve likes to come and go like his apartment’s secure enough, and even though Bucky has to leave the door unlocked when he leaves, and even if the apartment _is_ under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s watch (if from the outside and not from the inside anymore), that doesn’t mean it’s _safe_ , so he scans everything no matter where he goes, even the apartment.

It’s just like with the seat at the restaurant.

It’s probably from his training as The Winter Soldier, even if he can’t remember it all. Some of it’s still in his muscle memory and something’s in his _gut_ telling him to keep an eye on everything, keep his steps light, keep alert, don’t _trust_. At this point, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to enter a room without being on alert for _something_ , anything, even _with_ Steve around. Some of that might actually be left over from the war. Old habits and all that.

It’s a small price to pay to stay alive.

He takes a step into the main room and freezes, his gut warning him, and jerks his head up as his hand darts for the nearest lightswitch and flips it on, sunglasses and hat blocking the sudden illumination.

He catches sight of someone shifting down slightly, wings flaring a little and breath hitching near silent at the sudden light, but he’s already moving, leaping over the couch and aiming a punch that gets dodged, dodging a kick in return that gets aimed at his stomach.

He pushes back quickly with a beat of his wings, knocking the intruder a little off balance with the air shoved in their direction, and landing on his feet behind the couch, body tensed and fists raised when he finally catalogues the red.

“Natasha?” he asks, incredulous.

She eases her stance, looking over at him, but he doesn’t ease out of his, keeps the couch between them.

“What are you doing here,” he demands, “And why are you sneaking around in Steve’s empty apartment.”

All bad flirting and Steve knowing her aside, Bucky doesn’t _actually_ know her very well. He’s not sure if Steve trusts her, they’ve only known each other for a few months from what he’s gathered, but Bucky knows _James doesn’t_ trust her, and while Bucky loves and trusts _Steve_ (he _does_ ), if James _doesn’t_...it’s kind of like saying a lie detector finds you guilty. He and James might not get along very well, but they both know that Steve trusts too easily and James isn’t as forgiving or easily swayed, and just in general tends to pick up on shit that Bucky doesn’t always catch. So if James doesn’t trust her, Bucky’s going to have to side more with his judgement than Steve’s on this one.

“I came to tell you that Steve will be gone for a few more days,” she says calmly, adjusting her jacket from their brief scuffle.

Bucky frowns. “You couldn’t have just called?” he asks, not bothering to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

She raises an eyebrow back, reaching into her pocket - slowly when his wings flare in warning a little - and pulling out a cellphone. “That’s another reason I’m here, to give you this,” she says, taking a few slow steps towards the coffee table while he takes a few in counterpoint to hers, to set the cellphone down on top of it. “I can’t call you if you don’t have a phone.”

Bucky narrows his eyes a little, glancing from the phone to her. “You couldn’t have Agent 13 tell me?”

Her eyebrows rise a little, lips curving up a bit. “And ruin your lunch?” she asks. Bucky’s wings tense a little more and her own give a small shrug. “I _do_ have manners, Barnes.”

He frowns a little again, glancing at the phone briefly before focusing back on her. “You know _neither_ of us is going to trust that to _not_ be bugged.”

She shrugs her wings again, resting a hand on her hip. “James can check it,” she says simply, “He’s adept enough with technology at this point to perform all of the necessary tests, even with limited resources.”

They stare at one another for a long moment before he finally uncoils a little, but not completely, lowering his hands back to his sides. “James doesn’t trust you,” he states.

She raises another eyebrow. “I’m aware,” she says, but otherwise doesn’t obviously physically react. He only catches her wings going the smallest bit stiff because he’s looking for it. That’s how he knows it bothers her. Maybe not necessarily the lack of trust, considering she’s a spy, but maybe the _reason_ for it. And it’s almost eerie how well he can pick up on things like that now without actually remembering how he _learned_ to do it. And not knowing if it has something to do with James having known her before, if it’s from The Winter Soldier training, or both. It might be a blessing that Bucky doesn’t remember how he learned it, and either way, it has its uses.

“You could just _talk_ to him,” he finds himself saying, though why he’s bothering for James of all...people, he doesn’t know. He’s not even entirely sure if he’s asking because he cares or because James does, which has always been the most terrifying part of their...situation. If Bucky does everything he does because it’s his choice to, or if _James’_ will is filtering into his own and making him do things, affecting his choices and thoughts and decisions. He hates not knowing, it scares him if he’s being honest. Thinks it might scare both of them, which is only a small comfort.

Her expression goes neutral, closed off in a way he can barely understand before she’s moving around the couch and past him, ignoring his tensing and eyes that follow her every move, turning as she goes to keep her in his sights and watch her walk towards the hall.

“Goodnight, Barnes,” she says on her way out.

The door’s closed before he can reply and he lets out a breath, looking back over and rounding the couch slowly to pick up the cellphone like it might blow at any second, looking it over briefly before letting out a sigh and heading for his room.

Great, Steve’s going to be gone even _longer_ and Bucky’s going to be alone, and James essentially unguarded. Just what he needs. Yeah, there’s Agent 13, and probably Natasha, but does S.H.I.E.L.D. really think that’s enough to keep James here if he ever decides to _leave?_ Steve seems to have some sway, but Steve’s not here, and if they’re banking on James waiting for him to come back-

Bucky lets out a sigh, pulling his hat and sunglasses off and dropping the cellphone on top of his dresser.

James is more likely to go _after_ Steve ( _out of **what might** be concern, much as Bucky hates to admit it_ ) than wait four more days.

He pulls his jacket off and changes back into his sweatpants, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his eyes.

And he thought _Hydra_ was dumb.

Bucky drops his arm back to the bed after a few minutes of restless thoughts, staring up at the dark ceiling. Maybe he shouldn’t have made plans with Agent 13. He doesn’t even know if- What if he’s _not_ Bucky for the next few days? What if he doesn’t have his turn until _after_ Steve gets back? What if when he wakes up, he’s _James_ , and _not_ Bucky? What if he _never_ wakes up again?

His breathing picks up.

He tries not to think about it, he tries damn _hard_ not to think about it, but what if he disappears and James is all that’s left? Or the other way around? He can’t do that to Steve, hurt him like that (even if that’s not all he worries about. Even if it terrifies Bucky, too), and he knows Steve would miss James too if it happened the other way around. His own feelings and terror aside, he doesn’t want to hurt Steve. He never wants to hurt Steve. Maybe to give him a good wallop for picking a fight he shouldn’t, but not like that.

Steve’s been through enough, and he’s still going through more. Bucky’s well aware he has his own deep shit problems, but that doesn’t mean he’s not aware that _Steve_ has some too. Steve tries to hide it, Steve’s _always_ tried to hide it, but Bucky knows better, even with his mind as it is.

He turns over onto his side, laying on his left wing and ignoring the press of metal into the feathers through his shirt, eyes shifting up from the sheets to the laptop on the desk across the room, staring at it for a long minute.

He pushes himself up after a few minutes of indecision and heads over, grabbing the laptop off of the desk and taking it back over to the bed before he can change his mind, sitting cross legged with it in his lap and pushing the power button, waiting while it starts up.

He opens the webcam app once it’s finished and switches it to video, hitting record, stares at the screen for a long moment before looking straight into the camera.

“Natasha gave us a phone so she can give us updates, or Steve, maybe. I haven’t checked to see if it’s being tapped or tracked, that’s not my field of expertise. It’s on the dresser. I’m sure you’ll spot it,” he starts, “Steve’s also going to be gone for a few more days. Don’t go after him, he’ll be back,” he says confidently, maybe trying to reassure the both of them.

Bucky pauses for a moment. He can’t see much of his face in the screen, what with it being dark, but that...actually makes this easier.

“That’s not all I wanted to talk to you about,” he says after a minute, taking a steadying breath-

\--

“Nervous?” Rumlow teases.

Steve stops his leg once he realizes it’s bouncing, probably has been for a while, looking to his right at where Rumlow’s sitting next to him in the back of the quinjet.

“Just ready to go home,” Steve replies with a small smile, running his hands down the top of his thighs while letting out a breath, fingerless gloves blocking the feel of the rough material of his dark blue uniform pants to the whole of them but his fingers.

“Got yourself a girl, Cap?” Rumlow teases again, eyes dancing with it. Steve glances over and huffs out a laugh.

“No,” he replies easily, although he might as well have, considering. He forces that train of thought away, willing his cheeks not to heat. “It’s just the last time I was in Germany I went head to head with a god. And before that, a madman. Neither was exactly what I’d call a good time.”

Rumlow grunts in agreement, shifting a little in his seat to get a bit more comfortable and crossing his arms over his chest, left wing nearly brushing Steve’s. “Kind of disappointed all I got to see of that Asgard guy was the security feed,” Rumlow says, “Looks like that mission was a hell of a lot more interesting than doing recon in the back of a van in some backwards part of the world.”

Steve’s quiet for a moment but doesn’t wait too long to say, “It was definitely different.” He doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that it was...Let’s just say, he finally stopped having nightmares about a bright blue light in modern times at the end of the second month mark. He still dreams about The Red Skull’s blue light coming from the cube- _Tesseract_ , the terrifying beauty of space from what was apparently another world, but it’s stopped being the new version and has gone back to the old. Along with his nightmares about Bucky. At least those are familiar.

They’re all quiet for a while, just listening to the quinjet’s engines, some of the other guys listening to music through their headphones or talking quietly amongst themselves.

So far, Rumlow doesn’t seem to talk a whole lot when they’re traveling between missions. He’ll snark a bit with the other guys before and during the missions, after, but in the in between he’s quiet, more solitary. Steve thinks they might be the same in that respect.

“I know you’re probably going to say no,” Rumlow starts after a bit, pulling Steve out of his thoughtful drift. Steve looks over. “But me and the guys are going to get a good drink after this.”

Steve’s lips pull up, leaning back a little further in his seat. “I am going to have to say no,” he replies, “But one of these days, I’ll say yes. If the offer’s still on the table.”

Rumlow does some sort of smirk-smile combination that reminds Steve of Bucky and nods once. “It’ll still be open.”

Steve nods back, looking back straight ahead to get lost in his thoughts again once he’s sure that’s all Rumlow’s going to say, trying not to think of the Commandos and failing, so he tries to think of something else. James comes to mind, right hand that used to belong solely to Bucky held in Steve’s in a grocery store, but he forces the thought to move on and ends up landing on fish, crabs, and lobsters being released into water instead. He’s not sure if that’s safer.

\--

James half drops himself down onto the couch with a quiet huff of breath, trying it out, the free gesture. He’s not sure if he likes it. He tilts his head back against the cushions and stares up at the ceiling, wings relaxed close to his body, letting his vision unfocus as he goes over Bucky’s words.

He hadn’t really thought about the possibility of he or Bucky disappearing, becoming a single entity, or one of their personalities disappearing altogether to leave this body for the other, but now that it’s been brought to his attention, he’s...not sure what to think about it.

If Bucky disappears, Steve would be sad. He doesn’t know if _him_ disappearing would make Steve sad, but a small part of him thinks it might (even... _hopes_ it might). Before, before he left the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, before interacting more with Steve ( _Steve Rogers_ ), he would have been content with it. He would have been fine with having his answers and disappearing like he never existed in the first place. But, now…

He refocuses his eyes.

He does not want to disappear. He does not want to die.

He sits up and reaches for the remote on the coffee table, turning on the tv and finding Netflix.

He tested the phone and found it clean, but he was not able to give Bucky a video reply, or any reply at all, he still isn’t. So he’ll wait, until one comes to him.

He ends up watching _Meet Joe Black_ , and halfway through pauses it to get up and go investigate in the kitchen. He manages to find a jar of peanut butter and gets a spoonful, staring at it for a long moment before sticking the spoon into his mouth and scooping it off of the end with his tongue.

When he tries to chew it and it gets stuck between his teeth like rubber, a chair flashing through his mind, he drops the spoon with a _clatter_ onto the floor and rushes to the sink, roughly turning the cold water on and bending at the waist to stick his mouth under the running stream, getting a mouthful and spitting out the peanut butter, repeating the process until all of it is out.

He shuts the water off and turns around, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, water trailing down the edge of his chin and throat while glaring at the jar. It takes a few minutes, but he finally walks over to pick the spoon up, washing it off completely before sticking it into the dishwasher and throwing the peanut butter jar, lid and all, into the trash, wings stiff at his back as he heads for his room.

He comes back out with his headphones on, plugging them into the tv and quickly turning off Netflix to put it on his favored music station, sitting cross-legged on the floor and staring at the wood of the tv stand, eyes going over some of the dvd titles in one of the shelves in front of him for a while. He reads them over and over and over again until the chair is no longer threatening light and pain behind his eyelids and closes his eyes, building up spit and swallowing it down repeatedly until the taste of rubber is gone.

He does not like peanut butter.

After about five hours, he starts the movie up again where he left off, skipping over the peanut butter part.

He finds himself transfixed on the sex scene by the pool. It reminds him of Natalia, of the few memories he has of her that are like that. His eyes go unfocused at the phantom sensation of soft skin against his own, red wings meshing with his and deadly delicate fingers gripping his feathers, steel-green eyes with a fire in them staring into his and the sole sounds of their quiet breathing, panting.

But then the fingers are stronger, longer, but still delicate in their own way. The skin he feels is firmer, warmer, the wings larger, the feathers black. He hears soft, imagined moans that are deeper, still breathy but not _just_ breath, filling silence where Natalia and he did not. The eyes go from steel-green to blue and he jerks himself out of his thoughts, eyes widening a little.

There is no weight between his legs (hasn’t been for years. Isn’t even sure if that’s still possible), but there’s a heat in his gut that he knows (if just as long absent) and his wings are twitching repeatedly, tense and a little frenetic.

He’s not unaware of his developing feelings for Steve. He’s not unaware of what it means that they have manifested this way. But he doesn’t know if Steve would...could _ever_ -

He focuses his eyes back on the screen and watches the rest of the movie.

When it’s over, he shuts the tv off and slams the remote down onto the table a little harder than he should (it doesn’t break, but it does creak).

He hates the ending.

\--

James starts making a reply video to Bucky on the second day of Steve’s extended absence. He gets part way into it when the cellphone Natalia left for them vibrates on the desk left of the laptop. He picks it up, swiping his finger across the screen to read what turns out to be a message.

 _‘J or B? N said they gave you a cellphone. I should have thought of that sooner. Sorry._  
_This is S.’_

James frowns for a moment before typing out a reply.

_‘J’_

The phone vibrates again a moment later.

_‘Hey, J. :) How are you doing?’_

James thinks for a moment, forgetting the video, and replies.

_‘Mischief managed.’_

He finds the story about the witches and wizards interesting, if emotionally exhausting.

A response comes a few seconds later.

_‘Lol. :)’_

James sets the phone back down on the desk after a moment and turns back to the laptop to continue, but it vibrates again. He picks it back up and swipes his thumb across the screen.

_‘Well, just wanted to make sure this worked okay. I’ll be back home soon. :) Let B know for me?’_

His stomach does something it shouldn’t do unless he’s doing three one armed backflips in a row blindfolded at the word ‘home’, and he feels his face do something strange, but he ignores both for the moment and sends back a reply.

_‘Okay.’_

Because ‘fine’ is only used for Bucky.

_‘Thank you. :)’_

James sets the phone down again and returns his eyes back to the screen, frowning a little into the camera before stopping the video still recording and pulling up the file. He starts it and skips to the part where the phone first interrupted him and watches himself carefully, looking for the part that felt strange.

When he finds it, his eyes widen a little as he freezes it, quickly closing out of it and deleting the file. He stares at the empty ‘recycle bin’ icon for a few minutes until his pulse rate comes back down and his breathing evens out, then starts another video.

He smiled. But not a ‘normal’ smile. It was...It looked as strange to him as it felt, even though he’s seen Steve do it a few times now. The soft one.

He clicks record and starts from the beginning again, pushing it out of his mind. He can’t let Bucky know, he can’t show it where Bucky or Steve might see it. He doesn’t think Bucky would approve, would rather lock them both up again than risk Steve, and James can now understand that drive. To protect him. James is still a danger to him, even now.

So he’ll keep it from Bucky and he’ll keep it from Steve. James doesn’t want to be taken away from him, even though he’d fight it if it happened, if Steve let him. If Steve asked him.

Steve isn’t his master, or his owner, but if he asked, James would fight.

\--

Bucky spends the third day in silence on the couch, going over James' words, slouched against the back cushions with his right knee pulled up and bare left foot flat on the floor, right hand resting on his stomach and left forearm resting loose on the cushion at his side.

It was the most he’s said to Bucky and that alone was a bit overwhelming. He’s even more unused to James actually...showing more _emotion_ in his eyes than the snark Bucky’s grown accustomed to. How much of that emotion Bucky can trust is unknown- _he’s not sure_. James is more Winter Soldier than he is, and The Winter Soldier was an assassin and a spy, like Natasha (and don’t think _that_ similarity has gotten past him, that they’re both here, with Steve. He doesn’t believe in coincidence, not anymore), so it could all be a lie, but he doesn’t think so (much as he kind of wishes he could).

“So you ‘don’t want to disappear’…” Bucky trails off quietly to himself, brows furrowing as he stares at the tv, not seeing it, “...but you ‘don’t want me to disappear, either’.” He refocuses his eyes and stares at his shadowy, near-silhouette reflection in the black of the tv screen, watching the shapes of his lighter wings shift as he moves them.

He huffs out a breath after a long moment and lets it turn into a long sigh as he sits up, pushing himself off of the couch and walking to his room to get his sunglasses, hat, and jacket, changing into his jeans and pocketing the cellphone. His wings twitch a few times at his back and he rolls his shoulders, trying to ignore the restless ache in his back, his body. He hasn’t flown in a while, again. He doesn’t like doing it without Steve, and even then he mostly doesn’t like doing it at all because of the risks. But he knows he needs to.

He’s out the door and down the stairs of the apartment building before he can talk himself out of it, exiting out the front doors and walking a ways down the sidewalk until he hits his third alley and casually steps into it, eyes darting around quickly to see if anyone’s following him.

He immediately breaks into a run once he knows he’s out of sight and launches himself into the air with a few fingers holding the front of his hat down, barely clearing the top of the building at the end of the alley and taking off towards the Mall.

It’s too late to catch Sam, so Bucky does a few, paced laps around the Mall, keeping his speed down to stay inconspicuous, before heading over the small forest area and closer into the city, giving the other fliers wide births as he curves around the edges of main traffic and cuts across a few buildings, restless tension in his back and wings slowly easing the longer he flies, beating along air currents and wind brushing through his hair below his hat, through his feathers (glad it’s not winter yet). He keeps his fingers on the brim of his cap to hold it down, left arm at his side and hidden by leather.

He pulls his phone out as he lands, checking to see if it has internet and frowning a little when he finds it does. He’s not sure if it’s a sign of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s trust or if they want something from him, or if it’s another test, for him _and_ James.

He pushes the thoughts aside for now and Googles ‘VA’, looking over the matches and trying to keep his search simple. Cleared phone or not, he still doesn’t trust it.

\--

Bucky finds the VA after a little careful searching around the city, but stays perched on top of the building across from it to get a read on the place, eyes roaming over the front and occasionally flickering down to watch the people that come and go. It’s not many. It’s a little after afternoon, so there’s probably sessions in progress.

He crouches on the roof for about twenty minutes before finally hopping over the edge, gliding down to land on his feet on the sidewalk before glancing left and right and quickly crossing the street, hands tucked into his jacket pockets and face angled down.

It’s easy to find Sam, and there _is_ a session going on. Bucky keeps his back to the wall and peers into the room through the glass on the left side of the doorway, listening silently as the people inside talk.

There’s a woman talking about a paper bag and an IED, and his left hand clenches into a fist in his pocket.

It doesn’t take too long for the session to finish. Bucky keeps his head down but his ears open and eyes up as far as he can see under the edge of his hat, listening to the minimal conversations as the session’s attendees vacate the room and head down the hall, watching their steps. Sam comes out last, and only notices him when Bucky lifts his head and takes a purposefully audible step towards him, most of the others already at the building’s door exiting out into afternoon sunlight.

Sam jumps, gunmetal wings flaring out a bit and tensing until he recognizes him, bringing a hand dramatically up to his chest. “Don’t _do_ that, I could’ve taken your _eyes_ out,” he jokes.

Bucky rolls said eyes good naturedly, lips pulled up a little on one side as he takes a few steps closer. “Oh I’d like to see that,” he smirks, grinning a little wolfishly when Sam rolls his own.

“You here to bum more Chinese off me?” Sam asks, heading over to the nearby display table set just past the corner opposite Bucky, against the wall in the hall that leads to the building’s door at the end of it. Sam rearranges and organizes the pamphlets, putting things back in place while glancing up at him. “I’m assuming Steve’s still gone, since you’re here alone.”

Bucky’s wings tense briefly before he shifts a little, letting them relax again. “A few more days, actually,” he says a little flatly, hands shoved into his pockets and eyes looking off to the side. He can feel Sam looking at him, but tries to ignore it. “I can get food, it’s just…” he trails off.

“Too quiet,” Sam finishes for him. Bucky’s mouth pinches a little and he lets out a sigh, looking back to Sam and raising an eyebrow.

“Hey, I’m familiar with it,” Sam says with a smile, raising his hands briefly in mock surrender before he finishes tidying up. Bucky huffs a breath and Sam smiles. “You could fly with me in the mornings, if you want. Or come hang out here and lurk in the shadows,” he teases gently.

Bucky’s wings tense again briefly but he lets them relax, tempted to cross his arms over his chest. It’s a nice offer, but the risk is too high. Coming here _alone_ has the risk too high. What if he and James-

Sam can’t know about James. No one can. Not for as long as Bucky can help it. Steve was right about it being inevitable, but Bucky’s going to keep James a secret for as long as he can.

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky says, turning around to head for the side door.

“Which means you won’t,” he hears from behind him. He glances over his shoulder and the top of his sunglasses to see Sam’s wings fluttering a little teasingly.

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky insists with a small grin, fluttering his own wings a little back as he turns his head back around and exits out the doors into the sun, launching himself into the air soon after.

He’s just entered the Mall when something shoots up out of his periphery and clips the edge of his wing, fear spiking in his chest-

\--

James rotates his wings a bit as he beats them to keep himself suspended in air as he darts his eyes around and gets his bearings, spotting a small, round disc falling to the ground below, one of two young adults below him catching it with a, “Sorry!” He watches them scurry off for a moment before looking around again, heading over to the closest building and landing swiftly on the roof, patting his pockets down and pulling the cellphone out when he finds it and letting the fear in his chest fade out. It’s not his. He glances over the edge of the roof to catch sight of the nearest street sign, doing a basic Google search to find his location and plot his point back to Steve’s apartme- Home?

He slips the phone back into his pocket once he’s found the route and memorized it and run-jumps off of the roof, beating his wings and catching himself on the updraft while his right hand flies to his hat and catches the brim, keeping it on, a small part of him reveling in the wind sliding through his hair and feathers and a larger part contemplating the word ‘home’.

\--

Bucky jolts awake, bolting upright while his eyes dart around wildly, quickly taking in the bed under him and the familiar room, the early morning sunlight glowing through the closed blinds. He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a _whoosh_ , bringing his right hand up to his face and scrubbing over it once before pushing his bangs and loose hair back from his face. He cross his legs and stares across at the wall, going over the last things he remembers.

Something shot up out of his periphery. He remembers it being hard when it hit his wing. He’s woken up in his bed which means James must have found his way back and didn’t taken advantage of being on his own outside of the apartment, either to escape or go look for Steve ( _thank **God**. Though a small part of him is kind of wishing he’d woken up wherever Steve currently is_ ).

He goes over it a few more times before shifting to something else. It’s not like he hasn’t woken up or become aware in a different position than he last remembers being in, but this was different.

They didn’t switch when he attacked Natasha the other night. But, admittedly, she wasn’t an immediate threat and he was prepared to act. Whatever hit him yesterday he wasn’t prepared for, it was a possible threat because it was an unknown and it took him by surprise, which means…

Bucky lets out another breath, scooting over to rise out of bed and shaking his wings out once before heading to the bathroom.

Which means James can be triggered. He’s not sure if it applies to anything else outside of the safety of their wellbeing, but it’s possible, and that’s...That leaves him unsettled. Can _he_ be triggered too? With James it kind of makes sense, much as Bucky hates it, James is mostly suited for fighting. But Bucky? What could _Bucky_ possibly be suited for?

He sighs, closing the bathroom door.

He needs to make another video.

\--

_“-My point is: you can be triggered to take over our body. We need to test if it’s strictly for when we’re in danger, and if it also applies to me.”_

Bucky stares at him from the video for a long moment, eyebrows pulled together and a frown tugging at his lips.

_“You said you wanted to protect Steve.This is a way how. I’ve made a small list of things for us to try-”_

James glances at the written list on the right side of the laptop, then looks back to the screen.

_“If it doesn’t trigger me, put an ‘x’ next to it, if it it does, I’ll put a small circle. When I do it, I’ll put a minus sign if it doesn’t work, you put a plus sign if it does. Hydra and Lukin, S.H.I.E.L.D., none of them can know about this, not even Steve-”_

James narrows his eyes a little.

_“Don’t give me that look, I know you’re doing it.”_

James frowns.

_“We’ll tell Steve when it’s time. But for now, we keep this between us. We need to be careful...James.”_

James’ wings twitch once, sharply. That’s the first time Bucky’s said his name. It’s...odd.

The video ends at that and James reads over the list, rising from the desk chair to go get a kitchen knife.

\--

Bucky lets out a sigh, holding his right hand under the faucet, the cold water washing down the drain dyed varying degrees of red and pink, the bathroom light making the colors starker against the white. He glances over at the list set on the left side of the basin, leaning over the sink on his left hand.

 

 _Pricked finger x **-**_  
_Knife through hand x **+**_  
_Sudden loud noises x **+**_  
_Unthreatening surprises x **\- (Never do that again)**_  
_Threatening surprises x **\+ ( Never. Ever. Do that again)**_  
_Burning smell o **+**_  
_Fire o **+**_  
_Banging sounds (pots and pans, dropped boxes) x **-**_  
_Car blowback o **+**_  
_Violence (in movies?) o (mostly military themed) **\+ (blood with violence - ‘Kill Bill’)**_  
_Papercut x **\- (Not funny)** (its a little funny because you did it) **(No)** (yes) **( no)** (yes) **(Child)**_  
_Steve? (will test later) **(I don’t want to test this)** ( we need to) **(... Fine)**_

**_Knife wounds will heal in two days. Just wrap them._ **

 

Bucky’s lips quirk up, wincing again when he looks back to his hand. He shifts it under the water, pulling it out and turning the water off after another minute when the blood flow starts to slow a bit. He opens the cupboard under the sink in hopes of a medical kit (because this is _Steve_ ) and pauses in the middle of reaching for the one he spots on the right, eyes catching on something on the left, wings stiffening while his lips pull down in a heavy frown.

He pulls the medkit out first, wraps the two knife wounds in his right hand and puts the kit back before reaching back down again to pull out the three cans of dye on the left one by one, stacking them in his right arm and kicking the cupboard door shut with his foot. He grabs the list off of the sink and turns the bathroom light off on his way out, heading straight for the trashcan in the kitchen.

He dumps the dye in the trash one at a time, relishing the _thunk-thunkclang-clangthunk_ before rummaging through the kitchen to find a few more things to toss in the trash over them to cover them up, closing the lid after and spinning around to head for his room. He’d dust his hands off if one of them wasn’t injured and the other one didn’t unnerve him.

The cellphone vibrates later that night and he swipes his thumb across it to read the message, heartbeat picking up.

_‘Will be home tomorrow night. :)’_

Bucky’s lips curve up.

_‘bout damn time’_

The phone vibrates a few moments later.

_‘Aww. Did you miss me? 8D’_

Bucky snorts, wings fluttering a little.

_‘no. im just tired of starving’_

The phone vibrates again.

_‘You’re so lazy.’_

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

_‘uh huh. says the guy who didn’t want to change the kitchen ceiling light bulb’_

He flops back onto their bed, shifting a little in his baggy sweatshirt.

_‘That was one time! And I was tired! :(’_

He grins.

_‘uh huh. just come home. im wasting awaaaaay’_

_‘Uh-huh. :p’_

Bucky rolls onto his left side, easily ignoring the metal of his left when the phone vibrates in his right hand.

_‘I’ll be home soon. Let J know?’_

_‘yeah’_

_‘Thanks B. :) I know you don’t like to. Sorry.’_

Bucky huffs out a breath, looking across the room as he takes a moment to think.

He looks back to the phone and taps at the screen.

_‘we’re...coming to an agreement’_

The phone vibrates a few moments later.

_‘That’s great, B. :) Thank you for trying.’_

Bucky bites at his lower lip, texting back.

_‘yeah yeah. just get your ass home. i won’t say it again’_

_‘Yes, sir! :)’_

_‘and tell Natasha to stop teaching you those damn faces’_

_‘They’re called emotes, or emojis, B. 8)’_

_‘shuddup’_

_‘;) Goodnight, B.’_

_‘night S’_

He sets the phone down on top of the nightstand and rolls onto his stomach, not bothering to change or get under the covers, a small smile on his face even as he closes his eyes.

\--

The apartment door clicks open the next night and Bucky springs up from where he’d been bouncing his knee for the last hour and a half on the couch in the dark, starting to get worried because it’d been getting later _and later_ -

He flips a light on as he comes to the hall, crossing his arms over his chest and blocking the entrance to the room as Steve closes the door and smiles at him.

“You’re late,” Bucky says with a straight face, but that something unexpectedly tugs in his gut again, like he’s heard it before from someone else but can’t place _who_ , and Steve’s smile falters briefly before he’s bending to take his boots off, hiding his face for a moment before walking over.

“Sorry,” Steve says as he slows to a stop a couple feet away, but Bucky frowns a little, uncrossing his arms. He doesn’t know what’s associated with the words, or _who_ , but he doesn’t like the way it dampened the bright light in Steve’s eyes.

“No, I’m sorry,” Bucky says seriously. Steve frowns a little and Bucky reaches up to grip his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “ _I’m sorry_ , Steve.”

Steve’s frown disappears but his eyes go a little more sad, wings sagging a little at his back. He straightens up again after a moment and nods once with a small smile. “Thank you, Buck.”

Bucky smiles a little, letting go and moving aside. “How’d it go?”

“Good,” Steve replies, taking his shield off of his back as he heads for his room, “Is there any food left in the kitchen?” he calls back. Bucky rolls his eyes, huffing a breath while crossing his arms over his chest again.

“ _What do **you** think_ ,” he mumbles, knowing Steve will hear it and enjoying Steve’s laugh when he does. Bucky smiles. The apartment was too empty without it.

\--

Supple curves move against him, her bare skin cooler than his - always overheated now in comparison to almost everyone - but still warm, still soft.

His fingers slide through her soft brown hair, brown wings meshing with his white ones as they grind against each other, slow but firm. Her brown eyes are warm but defiant, always defiant, and her red lips are vibrant before they disappear out of his field of vision and press soft to his, almost teasingly light. When she pulls back everything shifts, the body against his harder, wider, longer, brown wings now black and soft brown eyes a somehow warm but harsh _winter blue_ -

Steve shoots up in bed, breaths coming hard but quiet while one hand grips the sheets, eyes wide as he stares across the room in the dark, wings trembling and tense, twitching at his back. He takes a deep breath and shifts, freezing when he feels a hot weight against the inside of his thigh in his sweatpants, eyes darting down to his lap. He opens his mouth to let out a curse but freezes again, eyes darting to his nearly closed door as he slowly closes his mouth. They all have sensitive hearing, and he doesn’t want Bucky _or_ James near his room right now.

Steve gets up slowly, walks over to close his door far enough that the metal tongue taps the metal mouth in the doorframe and padding silently back around his bed to pick up his cellphone off of the nightstand, lips pinching at the weight between his legs.

He opens a new message and taps out a text.

_‘Can I have Laura and Ian’s department numbers please?’_

His phone vibrates a few moments later and he’s not surprised she’s still up.

_‘:0 Are you sure you want them?’_

Steve glances down at his lap then the door to his bedroom, rolling and worrying the edge of his lower lip between his teeth before looking back to his dimmed phone screen.

_‘Yes.’_

_‘;)’_

Natasha texts him the numbers and he lets out a near silent breath, setting his phone back on the nightstand and crawling back into bed. He rolls onto his side and curls his arms up to his chest, forcibly ignoring his erection and taking another deep breath as he tries to will it away.

When he closes his eyes he sees that same winter blue, so he squeezes them shut tighter until the vision behind his eyelids goes black and white.

He doesn’t get much sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit; I doodled a quick thing; http://shaishart.tumblr.com/post/142003104504/quickie-of-bucky-from-ch-16-of-black-andor-white


	17. I have all these things I want to say, but nothing comes out

Steve opens the cupboard under the bathroom sink the next morning and pauses.

His wings shoot out and he closes the cupboard door quickly before flinging the bathroom door open and darting down the hall.

“Bucky! What did you do with-” He cuts himself off as he skids to a halt. James sharply half turns towards Steve where he’s sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the tv, wings flaring out and his eyes darting to Steve first before quickly scanning around the room around him as he pulls his headphones off, gaze eventually landing back on Steve.

“Are we under attack?” he asks, low and urgent. He must have picked up the vibrations of Steve running down the hall.

Steve’s wings twitch slightly at the sound of his voice. “I- No,” he manages to get out, slowly lowering his wings and forcing himself to relax. James slowly relaxes after he does, brows furrowing a little after a moment. “Sorry,” Steve says, “I didn’t mean to surprise you. It’s just- Do you know what Bucky did with my wing dye?”

James’ brows furrow a little more before his expression smooths out and he turns back towards the tv. “No,” he replies, lifting his headphones, “But I like the black.”

He’s got his headphones back on over his ears before Steve can formulate a reply.

Steve stares at his back for a minute, winter blue eyes and a hard body flashing dark and quick through his mind, and he shakes himself out of it before James decides to turn around and look at him again (because Steve’s _sure_ James can feel him staring), and glances around the rooms for a moment instead before his eyes finally settle on the kitchen, staring at the trashcan in thought.

The dye wouldn’t be there if Bucky tossed them in two days ago. The garbage was collected yesterday.

Steve sighs and turns to head for his bedroom to get this cellphone. He was expecting this, just...not so close to when he actually needed to _use_ it. Bucky’s always been clever, though.

\--

Steve pokes his head into Bucky and James’ room the next morning since the door is half open and spots one of them doing one handed pushups with their right arm.

Steve freezes, the phantom sensation of a hard body pressing against his and familiar eyes flashing through his mind again, and tries to shove it aside. He’s not even sure if it’s _Bucky_ or _James_ exercising right now, and that...that just makes it even more complicated, because it wasn’t _Bucky_ he saw in his dream.

Steve clears his throat so his voice doesn’t come out rough (because he _knows_ it will), shoving the dream down, and Bucky, or James, looks up. “I’m going to head out,” Steve says. James, or Bucky, stare back, eyes calmly on Steve’s. James then.

It’s gotten easier to tell them apart, from the large gestures to the small ones.

Where Bucky would have quirked a brow or given Steve a smirk, James is still in all aspects. It’s not that he’s blank, or just waiting for orders, he just...absorbs _everything_ before reacting, from the good to the bad.

“I might stop at the store on the way back,” Steve adds, “Do you want anything?”

James doesn’t stop his pushups, wings pulled in tight to his back to keep them from throwing off his balance, and keeps his eyes on Steve’s. Steve tries to do the same. It’s still Bucky’s body too, if that wasn’t weird enough. It’s just that...

“Brownie ingredients?” James asks, voice coming out perfectly steady despite the light sheen of sweat on his forehead, which means he’s been at it for a while.

Steve keeps most of himself from reacting the way his body wants to, but lets his lips pull up into a small smile, and nods once.

It’s just that, for all that he knows it’s _Bucky’s body_ , the _same_ Bucky he grew up with, the _same one_ he considers family, it’s...James makes it _his own_. It’s hard for Steve to find words for, but it’s hard to think of them as the same, even when the physical evidence is staring right at him right now.

Though, Steve has noticed, even now, that _James’_ eyes are...brighter than Bucky’s. Bright like harsh sunlight on ice, where Bucky’s are warmer, like sunlight on snow. It’s just enough of a difference for Steve to look at James and _not_ see Bucky, and look at Bucky and not see _James_ , regardless of their shared body.

“Brownie ingredients it is,” Steve confirms, starting to back out of the room. “Oh, wait,” he says, leaning back in. James’ eyes dart back up to his. “I’m going out tomorrow night,” Steve continues, “It should just be for a couple hours. If things go well.”

James studies him for a moment. “A mission.”

Steve hesitates, shaking his wings out a little when James’ stare goes a little more focused because of it, studying Steve closely. “No. A date.”

At that, James does pause in his pushups, one arm holding him straight up while his expression goes blank, the kind Steve hasn’t seen in... _weeks_. Steve’s wings twitch once.

“A date,” James says, voice oddly flat. He hasn’t done _that_ in a while, either.

Steve’s wings twitch again, a tension in the air he can’t name. “Yes. A date. Natasha suggested someone, and I said yes.”

James stares at him for a long minute, long enough for Steve to have to resist the urge to fidget, then drops his eyes back to the ground while he resumes his pushups. “Understood,” he says, voice empty of any emotions, and Steve shifts a little uncomfortably.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly, backing out of the room, eyes lingering on James for a moment before he turns and heads down the hall, crossing the space between the kitchen and the living room to head for the front door.

That was...James sounded more like he was receiving an _order_ than actually _understanding._

Steve shakes his wings out again, going over the conversation even after he’s gone outside and taken flight, trying to figure out why James shut down, and why he feels like there’s a growing weight in his chest.

\--

Steve’s just finished tying his second tennis shoe the next morning by the door when a pair of socked toes enter his periphery. His eyes follow up the legs they’re attached to to find James standing in front of him, jacket, gloves, hat, and sunglasses on. “Hey, James,” Steve says, wings flaring a little in surprise as he straightens back up.

“I...want to come with you,” James says quietly, wings shifting just a little behind him like he might be...nervous?

Steve’s wings flare a little more, but his lips pull up in a slow smile. “Yeah?” he asks slowly, something warm and a lot like hope spreading throughout his chest.

James nods, once, decisive, and Steve’s smile widens, goes bright. James’ lips twitch up in return, like he can’t help himself. That warmth in Steve’s chest goes a little warmer.

“Okay,” Steve says, “Let’s go.”

\--

Steve leads them to a different route than the Mall. Sam will be there and James is...James is still a secret. He’s not sure how to feel about that, isn’t sure how James or _Bucky_ feel about it, but it’s...necessary, for now. At least, that’s what Steve tells himself.

James keeps his pace sedate until there’s no one around, so Steve laps him for most of their flight, grinning over at James as he passes him by.

He catches James’ brows furrowed every so often when he does it until James can increase his own speed, promptly _whoosh_ -ing past Steve and knocking a wing against Steve’s as he goes.

He thinks he sees a smirk on James’ lips when he passes like it’s a small victory, and Steve can’t help grinning back as he chases after him, their wing beats the only sounds in the air currents.

They both quickly decrease their speed and break apart when one or both of them pick up the sounds of someone else getting close, but as soon as their passerby (or _multiple ones_ ) is far enough off, they both take off like shots, smirking and grinning at each other like kids.

If Steve’s being honest with himself, he’s missed this side of James, and he wonders briefly how James manages to keep himself cooped up all the time. But then he remembers, he’s more than familiar with doing that, himself.

\--

He lets James lead the way back to the apartment when they’re done, notices James’ wings beat more strongly when he quickly figures it out and starts darting around buildings with a brutal sort of efficiency that Steve tries to follow. For one brief, terrifying moment fear shoots down Steve’s spine at the thought that maybe James is trying to _lose_ him, James cutting another corner that Steve tries to cut as well, but only half as successful. A sound streams down to him on the wind they make and Steve’s eyes widen a little. It sounded like a _laugh_.

Steve lets the fear dissipate when he hears it again a few minutes later when they dive under an unlit streetlamp, and Steve smiles ahead at James’ darting figure, catching sight of something in his periphery after a moment and glancing over at it.

Steve’s eyes widen again and he swallows, glancing back ahead as he tries to keep himself from pushing the pace faster.

James must notice anyway, because he picks up speed and Steve gladly does, too, both of them flying at the limits of being _fast_ but not noticeably _too_ fast, trying to keep from drawing too much attention.

James lands quick and silent in front of the apartment building, immediately stepping aside after to let Steve land and take the lead, James practically running up the stairs to keep up after him.

Steve gets the apartment door open and all but darts inside, letting out a relieved breath when he hears James close and lock the door behind himself. He looks over to find James staring at him intently, eyes slowly and meticulously taking in every detail, Steve trying not to fidget under his stare as James presumably looks for an injury. It warms something in his chest while simultaneously making him want to shift, and he’s about to tell James that he’s _fine_ but he finds the reason for Steve’s behavior before Steve can, eyes stopping just to Steve’s right. He steps forward and reaches up with a hand towards Steve’s right wing.

Steve jerks it back a little, instinctively, a bit more of the white dye flaking off with the motion, and James slowly pulls his hand back like Steve’s a frightened animal, expression going a little blank. Steve bites the inside of his cheek, shifting his wings a little. It’s only now that James is doing it that Steve realizes how open James has become with him.

“It’s-” Steve cuts himself off, bending down to untie his shoelaces to give him an excuse not to look at James as he talks. It’s cowardly, but Steve’s not sure he can say what he needs to right now, otherwise. “Grooming is very personal,” Steve starts, “I’ve known Bucky since we were kids, but I...haven’t known you as long, and probably shouldn’t have done it with you.” Steve takes his time loosening his shoelaces over the tongue of his shoe, eyes focused on them. “Touching someone’s wings casually is...not common among people who aren’t... _together_.” Steve pulls the shoe off and finally looks up, taking in the small line between James’ eyebrows above his sunglasses, but his eyes themselves are still covered, so Steve can’t completely read his expression. He gets his other shoe off while still looking at him.

“I can still groom your wings if you want me to, but we shouldn’t just...casually touch each others’ like that,” Steve continues, working on his other shoe and getting it off while swallowing down the brief remnants of his dream. He’s getting better at it. Should be fine by tonight.

Besides, they probably didn’t teach James anything _about_ wing language, _decorum_ , at Hydra.

 _Why would they_ , he thinks angrily, trying to push the thoughts aside again for now.

“Do you...understand?” he asks.

James continues to look at him from behind his tinted sunglasses, eyebrows smoothing back out to neutral above the tops of them and taking with them whatever emotions Steve _was_ able to read. James’ body is too still and his wings are unmoving at his back. Steve can’t read him at _all_ now. It makes his wings want to shift, makes him uneasy, but he keeps them still.

James reaches down, quickly and efficiently takes off his boots before looking back at Steve after. “Understood,” he says a little flatly, walking around Steve and heading for the other hall to get to his room.

Steve turns and watches him go, something dropping in his stomach like a weight, but he’s still not exactly sure what it is.

\--

He stares at the webcam app for a long minute, finger hovering over the touchpad, but every time he starts to move to tap ‘record’, open his mouth with the pressure of _speaking_ , the words slip back down his throat like they don’t actually want to come out, and he sets his finger lightly back onto the touchpad.

James closes out of the app and reaches for the notepad instead. He tries writing it three times, but his fingers twitch with his wings when he gets to the word ‘date’ and he slams the pen onto the desk with a frustrated growl. He glares at his three, sharply scribbled out attempts before looking back at the laptop, finally opening a word document.

_‘Steve went out on a date. Possible back in two hours.’_

James glares at it for a long moment before pushing himself up from the desk, grabbing his headphones and the sheet of paper with his attempted messages and leaving the document open on the laptop, heading for the living room. He keeps his eyes off of the light peeking out from under the door of the occupied bathroom and his ears from tuning in on the sounds he can hear coming from inside.

He keeps his headphones on even when he feels Steve’s presence disturb the air in the room behind him. The music is not loud enough for him to not hear Steve’s, “ _Bye, James_ ,” but for one of the few times in his life, he pretends, and doesn’t say anything back.

\--

Steve wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans with a nervous breath, pushing the weight still in his stomach (that only got worse when he left the apartment with silence as James’ reply) aside and standing up straighter. He gives his wings a shake before he steels himself and opens the door to the restaurant, stepping inside.

He slows to a stop a little ways in.

She’s easy to spot, dark blonde hair and wings, sitting at a table along the back wall in a skirt that’s deep blue and blouse that’s soft white. Her brown eyes notice him after a moment and she smiles, waving a gentle hand in his direction.

Steve swallows once, and manages a smile back as he heads over with a brief, fast wave of his own, cheeks heating a little when she laughs at it.

He feels a few eyes on him as he moves ( _on his wings, hopefully **just** on his wings, for once_ ), but tries to ignore them and focus instead on Laura and her warm, brown eyes that he finds himself wishing were blue.

\--

Bucky grins at the message on the laptop screen, leaning back in the desk chair and lacing his fingers behind his head as he tilts the chair back on its hind legs. “A date, huh? Steve, you dog.”

He lets the chair drop back forward to the floor after a moment and ventures into the bathroom to check under the sink, growling and dumping the can of dye he finds in there in the kitchen trash again, burying it under a few other, carefully placed, tossed containers before going back to his room and settling back into his desk chair for the night, determined to wait.

He glances at the clock in the lower right hand of the screen, already thinking up what to tease Steve with when he gets back, lips pulling up into a smirk on his face.

\--

Bucky jolts awake to the sound of a hinge squeaking, wings jerking and some of his bangs sticking out and dangling over mostly one side of his face.

He glances up at the screen, briefly taking note of and closing out of the still open game of solitaire before pushing himself up from the desk quietly. He rubs his right hand over his left cheek to confirm the key marks from where his cheek had been pressed into the keyboard all night as he silently walks over to the door and peeks around it. He listens for a moment and sniffs the air, catching a whiff of coffee coming from the direction of the kitchen. He ventures out of his room after a moment.

It’s most likely Steve. He doubts someone breaking into the apartment would make themselves _coffee_.

A brief thought of Natasha flashes through his mind and he starts second guessing that assumption before he’s even halfway down the hall. She seems like the type that would.

When he gets to the end of the hall, he finds Steve standing with his lower back braced against the counter with a steaming mug of coffee held between his hands. Steve looks over when he notices him.

“Morning, Buck,” he says with a small smile.

Bucky lets himself and his wings finally relax, letting out a yawn he’s been holding in while running a hand back to get his bangs out of his face.

“How’d you know it was me?” he asks, heading straight for the coffee. There’s enough for another mug, and even a mug set out for him next to the coffee machine, bless Steve. He grabs the mug and fills it up to the brim, making sure to jerk out the last few drops whether the caffeine actually works on him or not.

“James doesn’t usually look like he slept with his face on a keyboard,” Steve says, light and teasing. Bucky glances over to see the smile on his face that he heard in Steve’s voice, stretched and just as teasing.

He snorts, taking a gulp of hot coffee and relishing the burn down his throat and into his gut before replying. “Maybe not. But I know he sleeps on the floor sometimes at weird angles, if the twinges in my lower back are anything to go by.” Steve laughs quietly into his mug, expression a little surprised as he takes a sip while looking at him.

He knows Steve gets that he still doesn’t exactly... _get along_ with James, but he’s working on it. Joking about him’s a step up, at least.

“So,” Bucky starts, leaning against the counter next to Steve. Steve looks up at him from where his eyes had drifted away. “How’d it go?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and a filthy smirk.

Steve looks back down into his coffee mug, and Bucky’s pretty sure he knows that look on his face.

“What happened?” he asks more seriously, wings tensing a little against the edge of the counter.

Steve’s mouth pulls down a little before he shakes his head, shifting his wings once and smiling a little sadly over at Bucky, trying to hide it and failing. “Nothing much. She was nice and everything, but…” Steve trails off, eyebrows pulling together a little as he looks back down into his coffee.

“‘But’...?” Bucky prompts when Steve doesn’t continue.

Steve sighs quietly, taking another sip before saying, “But we just didn’t have that much in common.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but Bucky knows better.

“So...what? She likes tablets and you like playing cards?” he half teases gently. Steve shoves him a little with a wing, a small smile pulling at his lips. That’s _something_.

“I don’t know...” Steve trails off after a moment, taking another sip of his coffee, “She started talking about ‘algorithms’, and ‘code lines’, and ‘back doors’. She works in tech,” Steve explains when he catches Bucky’s weird look. Bucky nods for him to go on.

“We just...didn’t really have much in common.” Steve shrugs again, and Bucky watches him for a few moments, shifting close enough after another moment to nudge his hip against Steve’s, wings pressing together comfortingly. Steve ducks his head a little for a reason Bucky can’t figure out, but his lips are pulling up again and Bucky smiles back.

“You know,” Bucky starts after a quiet minute, “They do say there’s ‘plenty of fish in the sea’.”

“And ‘more birds in the sky’?” Steve teases back. Bucky shoves him with his wing again and Steve laughs a little with it, taking another sip of his still settling coffee. That’s better.

“It’s not a big deal,” Bucky says after another sip of his own, standing up from the counter, “I may not remember it all, but I know I _definitely_ went through my share of... _possibilities_. You’ll find someone, eventually.” Steve raises an unimpressed eyebrow, but at least he’s not getting that kicked puppy look at the mention of Bucky not having all of his memories again.

“It’s been over _seventy years_ , _Buck_ ,” Steve says, a little deadpan.

Bucky rolls his eyes over exaggeratedly, taking his coffee with him as he heads for the living room. “Last I heard, we were both pretty much frozen for it,” he says over his shoulder, taking note of the way Steve’s wings stiffen in his periphery for a moment.

Bucky rounds the couch and takes a seat, patting the spot next to him. “Now get yer ass in here and watch some Saturday morning cartoons with me like two ninety year olds should!” he calls back over his shoulder.

He hears Steve huff out a breath, but after a minute he’s rounding the couch and joining Bucky on it, sitting in the designated spot next to him while Bucky leans forward to pick up the tv remote with a grin and switch it on.

They end up liking _Adventure Time_ , but they’re not sure what to make of most everything else.

\--

“I have another date tonight,” Steve says when he pokes his head into his bedroom again.

James looks up at him from where he’s sitting cross legged on the bed with the laptop balanced in his lap, in the middle of another therapy session that he badly wants to _crawl out of_. Something twists sharply in his gut at the words like the first time Steve said them, but he keeps his expression blank. It’s harder than it used to be and somehow easier all at once.

“ _Captain Rogers?_ ” his therapist asks from the laptop’s speakers, and Steve stands up straighter, eyes widening and wings flaring out a little.

“Oh shit-” Steve cuts himself off, adding quickly, “I mean, I’m sorry!” he stumbles out a little louder, eyes darting from the laptop to James, and then back again. James’ lips want to twitch up even though something’s still twisting in his gut, but his therapist is watching him through the webcam and he doesn’t want to show that smile to him.

“ _It’s perfectly alright, Captain Rogers_ ,” Doctor Harington reassures, “ _Please finish what you have to say_ ,” he says from the tinny speakers, as patient and calm as ever. He thinks Bucky must _hate_ it.

“Uh. Right,” Steve says, blinking at the laptop before finally looking back up to James, “I’ll be back in a couple hours. Same as last time. Are you alright here?”

James keeps his expression blank and his wings still, when what he really wants to do is- _Say_ is-

“Yes,” he says a little flatly instead of anything else, keeps himself from outwardly reacting the way he _wants to_ , “We’ll be fine.”

Steve stares at him for a moment, eyebrows furrowing a little, before giving himself a little shake and nodding once, smiling in a way that James now understands means he doesn’t entirely want to, but is doing it anyway. Steve starts backing out of his room. “Goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, Steve,” James replies, wings perfectly still behind him, feathers spilling out over the bedding.

He listens to Steve walk down the hall, listens to the front door click shut instead of paying attention to what Doctor Harington is saying. Steve is more important than a man’s words about his fucked up ‘psyche’, even when he’s leaving.

\--

Steve holds his breath until he’s outside of the apartment building, launching himself into the night air with a long exhale.

That could have gone...better. If only he could figure out what’s going on. What’s going on with James. What’s going on in James’ _head_ -

Steve shakes his own head, curving left around a building.

 _No_ , he thinks, James and Bucky both have had enough people trying to do that, Steve won’t add to it. He just...needs to work it out on his own.

He touches down at the restaurant ten minutes later ( _a different one. And he didn’t even have to bring up why he would’ve asked for a different one_ ) and holds his breath in again, letting it out on another slow exhale while he tries to get his small jitters under control. He shakes his wings out once like he did before his date with Laura. This is...maybe not the best idea. But he-

Steve sighs, nerves coiling in his chest while he reaches out to pull open the door.

Steve’s lived a long time, whether he remembers that large chunk of time in the ice or not. He feels older than his physical twenty-six years under the weight of it all, of the fighting, had even before the war and more during it, and he’s...he’s tired of feeling _tired_. He needs...something, and maybe this is it, public opinion be damned. He’s never really cared much for it, anyway.

Ian’s easy to spot, just like Laura had been, but in every way that she wasn’t. He’s got dark hair and dark wings and even darker eyes, dressed in light colors, and Steve strides forward before Ian can spot him and Steve can embarrass himself like he did with his first attempt at a date.

Ian’s dark wings flare out a little as Steve comes to a stop next to the table, head and eyes snapping up to him, body tensed and alert but expression surprised, only relaxing once he’s processed who it is. A smile shapes on his lips. It’s a nice smile.

“Oh, hey there,” Ian says, laughing a little at himself and rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “Sorry,” he says after a moment, gesturing to the seat opposite him for Steve to sit, “Probably not the best way to greet someone on a first date.”

Steve smiles, taking the seat. “It’s fine. I’ve done worse,” Steve admits, only half joking.

Ian’s eyebrows shoot up at that but he’s smiling again. Steve kind of wishes his eyes were blue, but-

Steve shakes his wings out a little and resettles them at his back, watching James’- _Ian’s_ eyes track the movement. _Cut it out_ , Steve mentally kicks himself, smiling back.

Their waiter comes over to their table before Steve can think about _that_ too much and Steve tries to ignore the looks getting sent his way, the discreet phone cameras, keeping his wings relaxed at his back. Maybe someday, he’ll actually get used to all this.

\--

When Steve gets back to the apartment, all of the lights are off and the living room is empty. He takes his shoes off quietly, setting them down silently by the front door before making his way down and across into the next hall, stopping at Bucky and James’ partially open door briefly to see one or both of them in what he thinks is sleep on their stomach in bed, right cheek pressed into their pillow and the light off.

He’s not sure how it works for them, if they both sleep at the same time or if one sleeps while the other wakes. He’ll have to ask them, sometime.

Steve tiptoes across the short hall to his own room, slipping inside and closing the door most of the way behind him. His cellphone vibrates when he’s about to pull his shirt off, and he pauses to pull it out and answer it.

“Rogers.”

“ _Come in tomorrow_ ,” Fury orders, “ _And bring Bucky and James with you_.”

“What is it?” Steve asks, worry forming low in his gut.

“ _I’d like to finalize their medical assessments, and you have another mission to debrief for._ ”

Steve’s wings sag a little but he nods, even though Fury can’t see him. “Yes, sir.”

The line disconnects and Steve ends the call from his own phone, walking over to set it on the bedside table before moving over to his dresser to find a change of clothes, unclasping his shirt as he goes and tossing it into the laundry basket in the corner.

A smile floats back onto his face as his thoughts drift to earlier, to his date, and he hums a little as he gets changed for bed despite the worry in his gut.

\--

Steve waits out in the hall while Bucky, or maybe James now, speaks to Fury about his medical assessments, standing to the side of the door and looking across at the gray wall. His stomach keeps tensing with nerves and his wings have gone uncomfortably stiff at his back, but he won’t know what to do about any of it until he finds out the results. If they choose to tell him, that is.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

The door opens a few minutes later and Steve’s eyes quickly dart to it as he turns, taking note of the way James is carrying himself, his quiet-like expression and the way his eyes dart to Steve first before scanning the halls, eyes then landing back on Steve, frozen and warm all at once.

“How’d it go?” Steve asks as the door closes behind James.

James shifts a wing a little in what might be his version of a shrug, looking back at Fury’s office door for a moment before he looks back at Steve. “Nothing we were not prepared for,” he replies, voice quiet and calm.

Steve’s not sure what that means, but he doesn’t sound upset, so Steve can only hope he and Bucky are fine with...whatever their results were. At least for now. James doesn’t seem to want to tell him anything, or maybe doesn’t feel the need to, so Steve will just have to wait to ask Bucky.

“He wants to see you,” James says, before Steve can get too far into his own head.

Steve nods once with a small smile and reaches for the door, but stops, changing direction and reaching over instead, making the motion slow and obvious, gripping James’ right arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

James’ wings stiffen briefly and his eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t shove Steve away, so Steve keeps his hand where it is for a moment, ignoring the spike in his pulse at the contact and hoping James won’t notice it. Steve offers a smile.

“Whatever it is,” Steve says, “Good or bad. You don’t have to face it alone.”

James’ eyes widen a little further and he stares at Steve for a long moment, something that Steve is surprised to find he’s slowly getting used to, before nodding once, wings shifting just a little as he looks down at Steve’s hand.

Steve lets go, something twisting a little in his gut, but he gives James another smile when James looks back up before pulling the door open to Fury’s office and finally stepping inside.

\--

He stares after Steve, even after the door’s closed, and doesn’t move for a long minute.

When he does, it’s to take up sentry duty where Steve had been standing, back to the wall and door to his left. It takes another minute to calm his pulse ( _longer than it should_ , his training tells him, _too long_ ), but it spikes again for a completely different reason a few minutes later when he catches a flash of red rounding the corner to his right in his periphery. They lock eyes, but Natalia doesn’t slow and he doesn’t launch himself at her like he wants to.

“Natalia,” he says, quiet, curt.

“James,” she replies back, smooth, unbothered. She comes to a stop opposite him on the other side of the hall, body both tensed and relaxed. “Waiting for Steve,” she summizes.

James growls quietly. “You set him up on dates,” he accuses, the words bubbling up out of him before he can stop them, pulse picking up again. Her eyebrows angle up and she leans back against the wall, wings shifting to accommodate the position while she crosses her arms over her chest. She doesn’t shrug her wings at him, but he can tell she would if she were anyone else.

“I did,” she confirms.

James growls again. “So you did it on purpose,” he concludes. Her lips tick up, and he has the irrational urge to force them back down.

“He asked,” she replies, throwing his resurging anger off. The fire in his chest wavers as he stares at her, mentally going over what he remembers of the past few days and coming up with no reason for Steve to make the request.

“Why,” he demands after a few moments. She raises an eyebrow, smile gone for now.

“Why not?” she returns.

“Because you know I-” he cuts himself off. She keeps her eyebrow raised while he grinds his teeth together, if a little. “Because. You _know_.”

“All the more reason to,” she replies smoothly. He growls again and she shifts a little to compensate for his leaning slightly towards her. “He asked, I gave him the information,” she says after a moment, “It’s not my place to tell him ‘ _no_ ’ just because you haven’t shown your interest and made a _move_.”

His wings and body stiffen and he stares at her for a long moment, but she doesn’t cower under his gaze like most others do ( _with few exceptions. Fury, Bucky, and Steve being three of them_ ). She knows him too well. He could piece that together just fine even _without_ all of his memories.

Doctor Shurin told him and Bucky their near final results, save for some final checkups they still have to complete within the next few weeks, and Fury finalized them.

They are nearly healed now, and neither of them will most likely be able to remember anything further than what they have. James will most likely not remember what happened after Natalia _left him_ , and Bucky will most likely not remember whatever else it is that he has lost. What they each have in their shared mind is most likely all that they will remember from _before_ , that _he_ will remember of _her_ from before, whether she tells him what happened after or not, and he does not want to ask her. But he wonders, now, what he did to make her do this to him when as far as he can remember he has asked for so very little.

Something must show in his eyes because her own soften briefly, and he growls again to make her guard go back up. He won’t take _that_ from _her_.

She stands up from the wall, the lines of her body hardened, angry, uncrossing her arms.

“You are a danger to him,” she states, voice strong.

They both know this. They _all_ of them know this. Bucky, James, Natalia, Fury, even Steve, stubborn though he may be.

“If I can put him off of your path, it will be better for him,” she continues, “He may come out of this without any more damage.”

So. She does care for Steve, beyond work.

James’ wings flare out and his feathers ruffle as he bristles before he pulls them back in, fingers curling into loose fists at his sides. “I would not hurt him, Natalia,” he states lowly. She inclines her head slightly, but her angles are still sharp and her gaze is unmoving.

“Not on purpose,” she replies, just as quiet, before turning to walk down the hall and leave him to his own thoughts while he continues to wait.

He watches her go, eyes staring across at where she’d stood after she’s gone while he goes over their conversation.

Perhaps he _was_ cruel to her heart. Once.

He drops his eyes to the floor, glancing over at the door to his left, briefly.

He doesn’t want to put that cold, hard look in Steve’s eyes that Natalia has. Maybe it’s best that he...let Steve go, go on his dates and...go on with his life.

James doesn’t realize his hands have curled into tight fists until he registers the breaking of skin, the smell of blood hitting his nose, old and familiar.

He opens his right hand and turns it palm up to find four, small, red crescent moons cut into his skin. Red like Natalia. Red like his past. Like the blood he has on his hands that only he and Bucky and Natalia can ever seem to see.

Steve might, he thinks, and he finds himself wishing that Steve both could, and could never see it. Ever.

He closes his fingers in a fist again and tries to ignore the sting of pain, both outward and in.

\--

“Hey...do you want to make brownies?” Steve asks him after they’ve both stepped into the apartment, taking their shoes off and heading into the main room. James’ wings tense briefly but he forces them to relax, tries to strangle out the thing that wants to make his heart beat faster in his chest. He keeps his back to Steve.

“I’m tired,” he says quietly, instead of what he really wants to, loud enough for Steve to hear.

“Oh...Okay,” Steve says, sounding a little off. James keeps his fingers from curling into fists. His right hand has finally healed. Bucky managed to keep the knife wounds from Steve. He has the amount of tact James thought he might. “This whole thing’s probably been stressful for you. The exams, the results,” Steve says, a slight smile in his voice that James knows if he looks is going to be a little forced, “We’ll make them later.”

James nods once without turning around and heads straight for his room, closing the door all the way for what might be one of the first few times since he’s started staying with Steve. He’s still getting used to...having things that are _his_.

He kind of wants to slam it, but then he’d be acting like the child he thinks Steve sometimes thinks he is, so he closes it with the barest _click_.

\--

Steve watches James go, something lurching in his chest the farther he gets, that same something sputtering out and tightening it’s grip when James rounds the corner out of sight and Steve just barely hears his door close.

He stands in the middle of the rooms for a few minutes, going over the last few hours in his mind, before finally forcing himself to move, taking a left at the end of the hall with a glance at James and Bucky’s door before slipping into his own room and closing his own door.

\--

Steve loops around the perimeter of the park, James flying ten feet behind him, keeping a slight distance in case someone recognizes Steve and they need to break apart quickly. He glances back at James as he shifts direction and goes right, but James’ sunglasses keep Steve from figuring out if he’s looking at Steve or any number of other things. He catches James’ wings stiffen mid beat, head jerking up, and Steve darts his eyes forward, wings quickly changing direction, quickly shoving forward to push himself _back_ , rearing backwards and just narrowly avoiding colliding into someone.

It takes him a moment, but he recognizes the wing color and-

“Sam!” Steve lets out, surprised. What he actually means is: _Shit_.

Sam laughs. “Hey, Steve,” he greets back, all of their wings beating in rotation to keep themselves in the air. Sam’s eyes shift to somewhere over Steve’s shoulder and Steve tenses. “Hey, man.”

Steve’s wings stiffen a little but he keeps them moving. It’s only a small consolation that Sam thought to not use Bucky’s _name_ , even if it wouldn’t fit the person driving the body _anyway_.

Steve looks over when he feels the air shift to his right, finds James’ eyes just barely peeking over the tops of his sunglasses and darting between the two of them until they finally settle on Steve.

“Um,” Steve says, glancing over to see Sam raising an eyebrow at them. Shit. Should he lie or tell Sam the truth? Does James even _want_ people to know he’s...alive? That he...exists? Does Bucky? “Um,” Steve repeats dumbly, starting to sweat a little more, and not because of the flying.

Sam raises his other eyebrow, slowly. “I get the feeling you’re not telling me something important.”

Steve laughs, but it sounds nervous even to his own ears. “I-” he cuts off when he feels the vibration of feathers beating once against his own, sensation shooting up his wing and to his back like a ripple effect. His pulse spikes a little at the contact and his eyes dart back over to James.

James doesn’t say anything, instead, he jerks his chin towards a more denser part of the park and Steve looks.

The trees are thick enough that they can’t see the ground below, offering privacy and a place to talk. Steve looks back to him, raising his eyebrows in question.

James doesn’t reply, just flies over to the area and folds his wings in, letting himself drop through the dense copse of leaves like a bag of bricks. Steve’s heart leaps up into his throat and he quickly flies over, lowering himself through the tops of the trees near the same spot, slower than James but still quick, catching a glimpse of Sam following with raised eyebrows before he’s submerged under the slowly reddening green.

When he finds James, he’s standing next to the nearest tree trunk, uninjured, and Steve lets his pulse steady out and a relieved breath out of his lungs, pulling his wings in to his back ten feet from the ground to let himself drop the rest of the way, landing on his feet close by.

They look at each other for a moment, James’ eyes still blocked by the sunglasses, unreadable, and Steve only looks away when he hears Sam land nearby, his own landing lighter and drop much closer to the ground.

“So, what is it we had to drop into the middle of a small forest to talk about?” Sam asks jokingly.

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but James beats him to it.

“I am not Bucky,” he says, quiet and calm like almost always.

Sam raises his eyebrows, looking from James to Steve after a moment and shooting him a questioning look. Steve lets out a breath, trying to settle his nerves with it. Guess they’re doing this.

“He’s right,” Steve says, “Mostly,” he adds after a second’s thought, “Sam, this is James.” Steve gestures in James’ direction with a hand while Sam’s eyebrows pull together, eyes darting between the two of them.

“I’m not following,” Sam says after a tense, silent minute.

“It’s-” Steve cuts off, glancing towards James for some help, “Multiple...Personality Disorder?” he tries.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” Sam and James say at the same time, Sam’s eyebrows high on his forehead and James still calm and still like they’re talking about which relative of Harry Potter’s they want to see him turn into a balloon next.

Sam’s eyes dart between the two of them again and James reaches a hand up, lowering his sunglasses enough to fully look at Sam over the tops of them.

If his body language wasn’t enough to go off of, his eyes _are_.

He doesn’t look at people like Bucky does. He’s hard in ways even Bucky as he is now isn’t, cold and stiff and all precision like a blade, where Bucky can be jagged and curved and _open_. And even though it’s easier for Steve to spot the difference from knowing Bucky as long as he has, there’s still something off enough in their different gazes to give most people an uneasy, if confused feeling, enough for them to get something isn’t right when they’ve already met one personality or the other.

It must work, because Sam lets out a low whistle, and James pushes his sunglasses back up on the bridge of his nose, not looking back at Steve. Something in his chest hurts a little at that, but he ignores it, pushes it aside.

“Wow,” Sam finally lets out, wings flared a little, “I’ve heard of it, but this is the first time I’ve actually _met_ someone with it.” Steve’s about to open his mouth and ask Sam to not say anything, but James beats him to it, again.

“You will tell no one,” he orders, his calm taking on the kind of tension that puts most people’s hair on end, Steve’s included, if less so than it used to. He’s gotten more used to it, and he’s not sure how to feel about that. He’s not sure how to feel about a lot of things when it comes to James.

Sam’s wings flare a little as he darts a look to Steve, but Steve just calmly looks back, and Sam slowly lets his gunmetal gray wings relax again. Well, mostly. But James has that effect on people.

“Yeah. Sure, man, I won’t,” Sam says seriously, expression sobering, “I imagine you got your reasons. And it’s not my secret to tell, anyway.”

Steve looks back over to find James staring at Sam, can feel when he decides to trust him (at least enough) with it and the tension drifts away into the air. Steve looks back to Sam with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Sam holds his hands up briefly, managing a smile back. “Hey, no problem. But, uh, please tell me _Bucky’s_ at least _aware_ of it?”

Steve nods, hearing something to his right and glancing over to find James has shifted, body angled out towards the park and away from them, turning his head slowly this way and that like he’s scanning the area. Steve figures he is, trying to give him and Sam some sense of privacy and is only moving his head for Sam’s benefit. Steve looks back at Sam.

“Yes, he’s aware,” Steve confirms. Sam nods once, letting his wings relax the rest of the way.

“So, James,” Sam says after a minute, drawing James’ attention back to him. Sam grins a little. “How are you liking the future?”

\--

“Another mission,” Bucky says, not asks. Steve looks up from where he’s fastening the last clasp on his uniform to find him standing in Steve’s bedroom doorway, arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face, eyebrows pulled down. He’s not happy with it, but he’s never been happy with Steve doing this...sort of thing.

Steve holds in a sigh, grabbing his helmet off of his bed. “Yeah, Buck,” he says, walking over to grab his shield from where it’s leaning against a wall. “Should be a short one. Just a couple of days.”

Bucky snorts derisively, and Steve knows he’s rolling his eyes without having to look. “Right. Because a _couple of days_ is _short_.”

Steve lets out his sigh, hooking his shield into place on his back before turning towards Bucky and walking towards him. “I know you don’t like it,” he says a little quieter, “But...I need to do this, Buck.”

Bucky stares at him for a long moment, barring the exit of his room like a gatekeeper, before finally letting out a sigh and stepping aside to let Steve pass. Steve stays where he is though as Bucky speaks.

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky says, reaching up with his right hand ( _always his right_ ) to run it back over his hair and down to the ponytail at the back of his neck, gripping it briefly before letting it go. It’s become a habit, whether it’s pulled back or not. “I just don’t like the thought of you being out there by yourself. I should be with you. Watching your back.” He frowns like the grumpy cat Natasha showed Steve and Steve can’t help but smile, pulling his helmet on as he exits his room and starts walking down the hall, listening to Bucky’s clothes quietly rustle as he follows behind him.

“I’m working with a highly trained strike team,” Steve says lightly over his shoulder, “I’ll be _fine_.” He pauses after a moment, turning around to see Bucky still frowning at him, arms crossed again. “But I know,” Steve says a little softer. Bucky’s wings twitch a little. “I’d love to have you watching my back again, but we can’t risk it, because of Hydra, Lukin. We don’t know if _James_ would want to. And I don’t want to force either of you into something like that. You’re both out, Buck. If you two want to be.”

Bucky holds his gaze for a moment before he lets out another, quieter breath, wings sagging a little at his back with it. “I know,” he says, looking at the floor for a long moment before finally looking back up at Steve, “But watching your back feels like it’s where I _should_ be. Where I’ve always been. Not having all’o my memories back ain’t gonna change that.”

Steve smiles again but decides not to reply ( _and quickly takes note of Bucky’s slang. Maybe he’s getting more comfortable. Maybe he’s getting a little more of himself **back** , even if it’s not memories_). Even if Bucky feels that way, it’s not necessarily how _James_ feels, and he takes a moment to let that thought sink in.

For all that he’s gotten used to the two of them, and James as his own person, Steve never fully realized that neither of them can ever _fully make_ a decision for themselves again. And that even if Bucky wants something, wants _this_ , it’s not solely his decision to make anymore. Steve can only imagine how frustrating that must be.

Bucky’s eyebrows raise a little at him and Steve blinks himself out of his thoughts, shaking his head a little with a slightly rueful smile. “I have to go,” Steve says, turning for the door, “And yes, _I’ll be careful_ ,” he says before Bucky can, because _of course_ he’s going to say it. “I have my phone. I’ll text you at least twice a day, _dear_.”

“You _better_ ,” he hears Bucky say as he follows him to the door, “I’m slavin’ away at the tv. Makin’ coffee’n shit.” Steve laughs, getting the apartment door open before he turns to look at him.

“Oh yeah, Buck, that sounds _exhausting_ ,” he teases back.

Bucky rolls his eyes, shoving Steve out the door and into the light of the floor’s landing. “It _is_. I’m tired all the time. Ain’t got the energy to watch all my _soaps_.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes, glancing over when he catches sight of Agent 13 opening her door, basket of laundry under an arm as she steps out.

“Oh. Hello, Steve,” she greets with a friendly smile, quickly taking in his uniform, “Be careful.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve replies with a little salute.

Bucky scoffs. “How come she gets a ‘ _yes, ma’am_ ’ and I get your eye rollin’?”

Steve rolls his eyes again dramatically. “Because she’s a _lady_ and you’re a _couch potato_ ,” Steve jokes back, laughing when Bucky sticks his tongue out at him.

“ _Slavin’_ over the _tv_ ,” Bucky stresses. “Now off with you, Rogers,” he says with a shooing motion, “And she’s right. Be safe,” he adds, “As much as you can be, out there,” he finishes a little quieter.

Steve smiles, open and honest, and nods once, giving Bucky a salute and Agent 13 another smile before vaulting over the stairwell railing.

\--

Bucky walks over to the railing, just catching the tail end of white feathers disappearing out the front door below. He frowns a little. Someone gave Steve more dye, the sneaky bastard. He darts a look over at where Agent 13 is heading for the stairs to his right.

“You didn’t give him any dye recently, did you?” he asks casually.

She pauses on the third step, blinking over at him. “No? Not me. I just stand guard,” she replies back easily. Bucky frowns a little more and she smiles. He can tell she’s not lying.

“Say,” he says before she can get too far. She pauses again to half turn and look up at him. He leans on the railing with his forearms. “Steve’s got a washer an’ dryer in his apartment. You wanna use it while I make macaroni?” he offers.

Her lips curve back up. “Taking me up on that dinner date tonight?”

“If you’ll have me,” he shoots back, waggling his eyebrows a little.

She lets out a laugh, something like honey dripping on windchimes. It’s soft and subdued but no less lively. She starts walking back up the stairs towards him. “If Steve won’t mind,” she says as she steps back onto the landing.

Bucky grins. “He won’t,” he says back easily, “Besides, I’m sure he already offered them to you and you said no.” He raises an eyebrow and she ducks her head a little, caught, honey colored wings shifting behind her.

“He did,” she confirms, following Bucky as he leads the way inside.

“So you just like me better,” he says, half cocky and half joking, holding the door open and sweeping a right arm out dramatically to gesture her inside. Her smiles widens when he looks, watching her cross the threshold dramatically prim.

“I might,” she allows after a moment, and Bucky grins at her back, wings fluttering a little as he follows and closes the apartment door behind him.

\--

He wakes up to the taste of last night macaroni in his mouth that Bucky must have made and silence in the apartment, opening his eyes after a moment and pulling the sheets back to slip out of the bed, putting the sheets back in order in quick and efficient movements after, straightening out any wrinkles and tucking in what’s slipped out at the end corners.

It’s a difference between him and Bucky. Bucky likes to leave the bed a mess, while James like it neat (and he’s gotten a message or two from Bucky about it, because Bucky is what James has come to know as an ‘ _ass_ ’.)

He grabs a change of clothes and heads for the bathroom, closing the door all the way and making sure it’s locked ( _secure_ ) before setting his clothes down and stripping out of the ones he’s in.

The lukewarm water hits his skin when he gets in the shower and he stands under the spray for a long moment, staring at the nozzle. He reaches out after another moment, turning it towards ‘hot’, slowly at first before moving it more surely as the water heats on his skin, releasing it as steam starts filling the bathroom.

He takes a couple steps to stand directly under the spray, closing his eyes and letting his head fall forward, hair plastering itself to his head and neck. He lets out a quiet sound as the muscles in his body and wings slowly start to relax, losing some of the tension he always carries with him.

He’s never tried to take a hot shower before. He started with freezing ones for the first week, completely still through the remembered feeling of cold water being hosed onto his skin and shot into his face for all of ten seconds before his handlers had shut it off and left him standing there on cold cement, dripping wet and left to dry (like laundry, he’s recently learned).

Remembered ice sealing his pores and stealing his breath and forcing him into stasis.

He spreads his wings out behind him as far as he can in the shower, reaching for the nozzle to turn the water hotter.

\--

He steps out of the bathroom an hour later, after drawing Steve’s shield in the fog on the bathroom mirror with a wrinkled fingertip, steam wafting out into the hall when he opens the door.

He flips the light off and takes another step forward before stopping, glancing to the right through the curtain of his wet hair.

He hesitates for all of a moment before turning and stepping quietly into Steve’s room.

\--

James pulls his jacket on before slipping on his sunglasses and hat, zipping the jacket up partway as he heads for the door. When he steps out, Agent 13 is at her own door, turning her key to unlock it. She looks over, smiling, but it quickly fades the longer he stands there staring at her.

“James,” she says after a moment, no tension in her voice, but he can see it in the arches of her wings. Her eyes dart down to his shirt, eyebrows rising a little before she forces them to smooth back out.

He pulls the door the rest of the way closed, the _click_ loud in the silence.

“Agent,” he says quietly, heading for the stairs. He feels her eyes on him until the next level down, ears picking up the sound of her door opening and closing soon after.

He decides to walk for a while, taking a left outside of the building after a moment’s consideration, keeping his face angled down and his gloved hands casually in his jacket pockets. It’s bright out, the sunglasses won’t draw attention today.

He’s four blocks down when something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye and he stops, angling his head up as he looks across the street, eyes darting briefly to the person who bumps into him with a, “ _Watch it_ ,” before returning his attention to the two people that caught his attention across the way.

They’re two women, one with dark skin and one that is light, waves of tiny, ringed curls on one and short, chin length, straight black hair on the other, both wings dark ( _but neither the color of Steve’s_ ). They’re holding hands, angled towards each other as they talk, one pointing to the window of the shop they’re standing in front of with a smile stretching wide on her face, the other looking amused. But there’s a warmth in her eyes that says she’ll probably say yes to whatever the other is proposing, only putting up a protest out of habit, or something else he cannot understand.

He’s only vaguely familiar with the concept of judging others for who they are with, and all of the subtle nuances of race and gender that he doesn’t care for, has heard it mentioned with disdain while with his masters- Lukin. It’s never been a concern of his, never related to a mission in a way that would matter, and he’s never really had much of an opinion on anything, until recently. Even as he his now, he doesn’t see the point in judging them, either way. It’s a pointless endeavor.

That’s not why he’s staring, anyway.

Their dark wings are overlapping, smoothly trading places as they talk like they’re not aware of it, the motions fluid like water, like they’re natural or well practiced, seamless and well worn. His own wings twitch, watching them, and he quickly forces himself to angle his head down and keep walking just as their conversation starts to lull, their lips slowing as their instincts kick in that they’re being observed.

He turns down the nearest alley and pushes himself off the ground and into the air, heart beating quicker than usual in his ears.

\--

Sam’s flying his usual route around the Mall, predictable and easy to find. James finds himself keeping quiet, beating his wings slow but long to catch up, making very little sound.

He pulls up alongside Sam’s right, nearly right next to him before Sam notices and lets out what might be a squeal-squawk, wings jolting and beating in jerky motions as he quickly pushes himself away, coming to hover. James finds his lips pulling up in what he thinks is a smirk as he slows to a stop with him, beating his own wings in circular motions to keep himself propelled in the same place.

Sam quickly takes him in, letting out a _whoosh_ of breath once he finally registers him. “ _Man_ , don’t _do_ that!” he lets out, hand going to his chest and breath fast, adrenaline spiked and eyes still a little wide. “I _swear!_ One of these days one of you is going to give me a _heart attack!_ ”

James’ brows furrow a little, expression clearing after a moment. “ _I’ve_ done this to you before,” he says, emphasizing just enough.

Sam’s eyebrows pull together briefly before his own expression clears, letting out another gust of breath. “Yes, you have,” he replies, letting his hand drop back to his side, studying James. Sam’s eyes drop to his shirt. “Is that a Captain Ameri-”

James pulls the zipper up further to cover the shield printed on the front of the tshirt he...borrowed, cutting off Sam’s observation. Sam purses his lips together, the corners twitching just slightly, eventually letting them ease out into a comfortable line as he looks at James’ face. “Wanna finish the lap with me?” he offers after a moment.

James glances right to the rest of the path, thinking it over for a moment before looking back to Sam, inclining his head slightly in the affirmative.

Sam nods back, smiling a little before shifting his wings and beating them to push himself back onto his flight path. James shifts his own and follows on Sam’s right.

\--

They land next to the trees lining the path after, walking in a ways before James eventually internally decrees they’re under as much cover as they can get and stops. Sam finally lets himself drop next to the nearest tree trunk, leaning back against it as he pants, sweat staining his sweatshirt. He looks up at him after a moment.

“Man, whatever they gave you two,” Sam starts, and James stiffens briefly. Sam shakes his head a little, noticing, and does some sort of flopping motion with a hand, once. “It’s just. It’s kind of ridiculous, how well you two can do some of the more basic things that the rest of us didn’t know we’d end up struggling with.”

James glances around the wooded area again briefly before looking back down at Sam, taking a seat after a moment five feet away.

“You are fast,” he acknowledges, and Sam looks at him, eyebrows raised. “For someone without any alterations, you are fast, Sam Wilson.”

Sam stares at him for a long moment, seemingly trying to figure out if James is joking or not, before letting out a breath and giving James a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is fact,” James corrects, gloved palms resting on his knees, fingers relaxed and curled over, dangling above the grass.

“Still taking it as a compliment,” Sam says lightly with an easy grin.

James doesn’t argue. Sam will take it however he will, that is his freedom, and now it is one of James’, too.

Sam doesn’t say anything more for a few minutes and James lets him catch his breath.

After a bit, Sam looks back over to him, raising an eyebrow. “So, either you’re here like _before_ and wanting to bum food off of me, or you’re here for a reason?” he guesses. James narrows his eyes slightly behind his sunglasses. So, Sam’s the one that got them those white boxes of food.

“I am...unsure of how wings work,” James says after a moment of carefully thinking over his words. Sam’s eyebrows rise a little and he continues. “Not in flight. In...expressions. Manners. Gestures,” he clarifies, taking a moment to go over Steve’s words. “Steve said that touching anothers’ wings casually is not done unless the people doing it are copulating.”

Sam chokes on something, maybe air, maybe his own saliva, but there’s a laugh muddled in there with it, so James doesn’t tense. “Steve said ‘ _copulating_ ' _?_ ” he asks around it.

“No. I did,” James says, staring at him through the sunglasses.

It doesn’t have any effect since Sam can’t see his eyes, but Sam’s laughter eventually dies down and he shifts a little, wings and all, seemingly to try and get more comfortable against the tree roots digging into his lower back. “Well, he’s right,” Sam agrees after a moment, casting a curious look at him, “What is it that you want to know?”

James keeps himself from shifting, but his fingers and wings twitch a little. Sam’s eyes dart to them. He’s sharp, observant. James will have to be more careful.

He thinks for a long minute, going over Steve’s words again and the two women he saw on his way here, warring with himself on whether he should pick his words carefully or give in to his growing annoyance with himself and just... _talk_. But he’s never just...talked to someone before. Natalia is the closest he’s come to it, but that is... _different_.

Is this what it’s like to be _Bucky?_

James lets out a breath that could with a little more air be a sigh.

“I saw two women on my way here,” he starts, and Sam nods for him to go on when he pauses, “They were being...intimate. Holding hands, looking at each other as if there were no other people around. Their wings were-” he pauses, eyebrows pulling together a little as he tries to find the way to word it, “Overlayed. One over the other, then switching so the other’s was on top instead of the bottom. Repeating this. What does that mean?” he asks, focusing back on Sam and out of the mental image.

Sam’s expression goes thoughtful, bringing a hand up to rub his chin with a few fingers while his eyes shift out to the rest of the park as he thinks, expression eventually clearing and eyes focusing back on James. “That means they’re very close. Dating, definitely, but probably closer to being life-long partners. You only really let your wings overlap or bare the undersides to someone when you’re pretty serious about each other,” Sam replies.

James angles his head slightly, processing. “Matrimony?” he asks. Sam’s eyebrows shoot up a little but his expression settles soon after, nodding.

“Something like that, or close to,” Sam replies.

“What about grooming?” James asks next, settling his wings down a little further into the grass, finding that he enjoys the small vibrations of it ruffling slightly against his feathers.

“Mmm, that one’s a little more difficult to explain,” Sam says after a moment, glancing up at the leaves overhead in thought. “You can groom someone’s wings who you’re not going to marry or date,” he says, looking back to James, “But it’s mostly reserved for family, or people who are _like_ family. That or some sort of medical emergency, if it’s needed.” James frowns a little, mentally rerunning the sensation of Steve’s fingers through his feathers.

“How do you define ‘family’?” James asks after his own moment to think, watching Sam closely.

Sam’s eyebrows rise again, but his expression sobers while he stares at James, looking him over like he’s seeing him for the first time, even though they’ve already met once before.

James keeps himself still, staring back. He’s used to being examined.

“Family is…” Sam starts after a few more moments, eyes going back to the canopy of trees overhead, “Family is… _warmth_. People you would do anything for to keep them safe, from others, from themselves, but also know when you need to step back and let them do their own thing. It’s a bond, a connection that fills you up and ties you together like a lifeline with a string you can’t ever cut, even when you try to.”

James drops his eyes to the ground as he listens, feeling the prickle of Sam’s gaze on his face after a moment. He keeps his eyes where they are.

“Family is the people you surround yourself with who accept and love you for who you are, and support you through anything,” Sam continues, “And even when they don’t, you think, care about, and miss them anyway, good or bad.”

He thinks of Bucky and Steve, of Natalia, and his eyebrows pull together, eventually looking back up at Sam. “What is the difference between that and what those two women have?” he asks.

Sam’s lips curve up, but his expression goes thoughtful again as he thinks it over, eyes going unfocused with it. “That’s another _form_ of ‘family’, but the main difference would be the...nuance of it,” Sam replies, “Like, I _love_ my sister, but I wouldn’t make love _to_ my sister.” Sam’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, expression resembling one of horror (but not the kind James is used to seeing), hands coming up chest-height with them before he drops them to the tops of his thighs with a brief smile. “But a smart woman with a killer smile and warm eyes?” he asks, wings shrugging a little against the tree trunk behind him, “Make sense?”

James stares at him for long moment, processing, Sam’s wings starting to shift until James turns his head a little to the side, more for Sam’s benefit than his own. “I think I loved someone, once,” he finally says quietly, carefully rolling the memories over in his mind. Blood soaked as they are, they have...warmth, too. Before the knife was plunged to what was left of his heart. He looks back over, and Sam’s eyebrows are high up on his forehead. James scowls a little, and Sam raises his hands again in mock surrender.

“Sorry, man, it’s just…” Sam trails off, lowering his hands again, expression going a little more serious, “I haven’t known you long, but...I don’t know. I’ve seen about three moods from you, and Steve gets the nicest of them.”

The words are harmless, for the most part, they don’t bother him, but Sam’s eyes take on a more knowing look than James is comfortable with.

His wings stiffen and he lowers his sunglasses a little, looking straight at Sam over the tops of them. Sam’s own wings stiffen, more than his, and his eyes widen a little, looking a bit like an animal caught in the sights of a predator. It’s an apt comparison.

“You tell him…” James trails off, voice low in warning. Sam swallows and James pushes the sunglasses back up on his nose, “And not even certain government organizations will be able to find your body. Do you understand.”

Sam nods after a moment, eyes still a little wide. “Yeah,” he says a little weakly, “Like before, it’s not my secret to tell.”

James stares at him for a moment longer before nodding once, turning his head a little to the side. He hears Sam let out a quiet breath, catches sight of gray wings sagging a bit in his periphery.

“So...I might be pushing my luck, but…” Sam trails off. James turns his head back in his direction. “He’s the reason you’re asking.”

It’s not a question, so he doesn’t answer, just stares.

Sam lets out another breath, rubbing a hand over his face and back over his short hair. “Right. I thought that might be the case,” Sam confesses, dropping his hand back to his lap and looking up at him, “That’s...I’m not sure how that would work,” he says, honestly, “You’re...I mean, your body- It’s- _You know_ ,” he finishes helplessly, gesturing with his hands towards James.

James looks down at his own hands for a moment, turning them over on the tops of his knees and looking at the black gloves that cover them, flesh and metal. He looks back up.

“He does not treat me like... _him_ ,” he starts, “And from what I have learned, he does not treat _him_ like _me_.”

Sam’s eyebrows pull together a little in thought, thinking that over. “So he’s...used to this, then. Comfortable with it, even.”

James lifts a wing slightly in his version of a shrug, and Sam nods once, looking to the ground in thought. He looks back up after a few moments. “Does... _he_ know about any of this?” James just looks at him, so Sam goes on. “I mean, it’s not just _you_ in there. Do you know how _he_ would feel about this?”

James turns his head a little, looking off to the side. “It does not matter if he knows or not,” he says, quieter, “Steve is... _dating_ someone else, recently, and I should not- It’s not safe.” He bites the inside of his lower lip slightly, letting the minor pain distract him a little. It’s not much, but it’s something.

“Hey, man,” Sam says, quietly after a few moments. James turns his head to look back at him. His eyes have gone softer, not quite in the same way as Natalia’s, but soft all the same.

His feathers flare up a little, but Sam raises his hands again.

“I’m not pitying you,” he says, lowering his hands when James’ feathers slowly smooth back down, “I just think- Look. I’m not an expert on this, by _any_ means, but most of the time in complicated relationships, if all parties involved are _alright_ with it...I just think you deserve to be happy, too. Not _just him_. From this meeting alone...You have questions, you have thoughts, emotions. I can _tell_ you’re your own person. And you don’t act much like _him_ at all.”

James wings flare a little, lips parting just slightly. Sam offers him a smile after a moment, something warm, similar to Steve’s but not entirely the same.

It’s kindness, he realizes, sharp and hot in his chest like a heated blade.

James stares at him for a long minute, and this time Sam doesn’t shift or fidget, just stares right back, sunglasses and all, and James slowly lowers his wings, standing up after another minute.

Sam’s eyes follow him and he shifts to do the same, but stops when James offers his right hand down.

Sam looks up at him, eyebrows up and wings flared in surprise, but he slowly takes it after a moment and lets James pull him up. It’s easy, and Sam lets out a surprised sound with how swift he does it, both letting go after.

“Thank you,” James says, quiet but honest after another moment.

Sam smiles back, something a little wider this time, and no less kind. “Hey, _you’re welcome_.”

James’ lips twitch up and Sam’s smile stretches further.


	18. Am I asking too much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for the _threat_ of sexual violence, but nothing too graphic happens. If this will bother you let me know and I'll let you know where it happens so you can skip over it.  
>  Um, warning for death, too.  
> There is a link to a song above the section it goes with. You should really listen to it because it's amazing and it literally picked itself out for that particular scene like _weeks_ ago.

Bucky rolls over with a groan, blocking out the morning sun with his arm thrown over his face and a lifted left wing.

He shoves himself out of bed ten minutes later with a loud, jaw popping yawn and a stretch, wings spreading as wide as they can in the space of the room.

He walks over and grabs the flashing cellphone off of the desk, swiping at the screen to unlock it and read over the message.

_‘Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. 8)’_

Bucky’s lips pull up.

_‘yeah yeah. ill shove that sunlight back up yer ass ya keep shootin it out’_

He shoots off his reply and whistles to himself as he heads for the bathroom.

\--

Steve grins down at his phone, tapping out a reply.

_‘You calling me a unicorn, B? ;)’_

“What’s got you grinning like you just won the lottery?” Rumlow asks from above him, snapping Steve out of his thoughts. Steve locks his phone, screen going black as he shoves it in his pocket and stands up.

“Nothing. Just a friend,” Steve replies with a smile, walking over with him to inspect the monitors. “What have we got?” he asks, leaning in to take a look.

\--

Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes.

_‘no way. you might have every1 else fooled but i know you aint no virgin pure as the driven snow’_

When he doesn’t immediately get a reply, he locks the phone and takes it and the laptop with him out into the living room for his therapy session.

“Might as well get it over with,” he grumbles to himself, plopping down onto the couch and opening the Skype app.

It’s the only program he’s got on the whole laptop that can access the internet. He’s not sure how S.H.I.E.L.D. managed that, but they did.

It dials for a minute, and then the call gets picked up and his therapists’ face flickers into view on the screen.

“ _Hello_ ,” Doctor Harington opens with. It’s always a safe start, since he never knows who he’s going to get to talk to.

“Hey, Doc,” Bucky replies back lazily, slouched where he is against the back of the couch.

“ _Hello, Bucky_ ,” Doctor Harington replies, smiling in that neutrally pleasant way of his. It kind of grates on Bucky’s nerves. Nobody’s that pleasant _all_ the time. “ _How is your day going so far?_ ”

“Had to piss like a racehorse,” Bucky replies, “But other’n that, can’t complain.”

Doctor Harington laughs easily, nodding once. “ _That’s good. Are there any questions you have? Concerns?_ ”

He asks every time, and every time Bucky’s said ‘ _no_ ’. He thinks James has, too. Their problems are their own, mandatory therapy sessions or not.

But this time, he hesitates.

See, he and James have rules. And they are:

 _1\. We do not talk about Steve. Ever._  
_2\. We do not talk about each other. Ever._  
_3\. This is our own shit. Therapist or not, he’s a stranger. We do not talk about our shit to strangers._

Hell, he can barely talk about his shit to _Steve_ , and he’s known the guy for...ninety-six years? Maybe the ‘talking to a stranger’ part should make it easier, but it doesn’t when he knows said stranger is reporting all of this back to who knows how many other people, at least one (Fury), and he looks at him the whole time. Harington’d probably do the therapy session without the video, if Bucky asked, but Bucky figured seeing the person talking is part of how Harington does what he does, so Bucky hasn’t bothered to.

It’d be pointless, anyway. Bucky doesn’t like doing the sessions _at all_ , much as he’s forced himself to get used to it.

But this time, Bucky huffs out a breath, something coiling tense and nervous in his chest, his gut.

This time he _does_ have a question, and he’s not sure who else to ask. Steve won’t know, James probably won’t, either, and he can’t exactly just pull up an answer on the computer.

Gold wings and secretive smile flash through his mind and he swallows once, forces himself to _ask_ , because _he_ _needs to **know**_ -

“Actually, Doc,” Bucky starts, voice only slightly shaky. Doctor Harington’s smile fades into something more focused, listening, like he always does, whether Bucky’s talking or not. He has to give the man points for that, his consistency.

“I wanted to know more about this... _disorder_ I’ve got. I don’t have internet, and I don’t think I should just be _strollin’ down_ to the _library_ -”

\--

There’s a knock at her door and she rises from the couch, setting her book down on the low coffee table before walking over, looking through the peephole, eyebrows rising a little as she opens the door to find her neighbor leaning on his forearm on the door frame. He smiles up at her, eyes a sharp blue, but his smile is cracked at the edges. She’d be able to see it even if she weren’t trained to.

“Bucky?” she asks, because she has to be sure, even though she’s pretty sure he is. James is all stiff, controlled lines and hard anger. Volatile, even. Bucky holds himself looser, even when she catches him stiffening. He and James have their similarities, but they’re still _very different_ , too.

“Hey, Agent,” he tries to joke, but it falls mostly flat. His voice comes out rough and he clears it, pushing himself to stand up straight, wings sagging a bit at his back. “I uh- I probably shouldn’t- _Fuck_ , I shouldn’t be here,” he says quieter towards the end, rubbing a hand over his face and pressing into the corners of his eyes with his thumb and fingers, squeezing them shut before pulling his hand away and blinking them back open, letting his hand drop back to his side. His wings sag a little further at his back, eyes aimed somewhere down low and to the side, focused on whatever he sees there instead of on her. Her wings twitch and her fingers curl in a little, wanting to touch. She doesn’t.

“Do you want to come in?” She asks softly after a moment. Bucky bites at his lower lip briefly, eyebrows pulling together.

“I shouldn’t,” he says quieter, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

She ‘shouldn’t’, either. A lot of things that she’s done so far, actually. But it’s a bit late to be on top of that.

She reaches forward, slow, making sure his eyes catch the movement before taking his right hand gently, pulling it towards her. “Come in?” she asks again, still quiet.

He finally looks up at her, eyes shinier than they were a minute ago, and she thinks it might be cracking something a little in her heart, seeing him like this. He’s been a little stiff, but all smiles and a show of humor up until now. But maybe she’s been half expecting something like this from the start, because it doesn’t surprise her to see him like this as much as she thinks it should. Everyone wears a mask, even her, but his is finally cracking apart.

He moves towards her. It’s not fast like she expected, but slow, like cake mixture spreading out in a wide pan or fire crawling its way up along a wet cloth. She’s not sure which she’d prefer, the sweet or the burn, but when his lips press to hers her eyes slip shut and she finds it’s somehow both. They’ve been dancing around the line of this thing for a little while now, and she wasn’t going to cross it, but life has a funny way of doing the things you either don’t want it to or don’t expect it to. She’s heard enough stories from her Aunt to know that all too well, knows she’s not an exception to it happening to her, either.

She hears the material of his leather jacket shift up, can sense his left hand hovering near the side of her face, hesitating. She reaches up with her right, slowly and gently grasping the back of it in her palm, absorbing the small flinch he gives at the contact, and pulling it in to the side of her face. He lets out a pained sound from somewhere deep in his chest, his throat, against her lips, and then his mouth is parting and so is hers and she’s pulling him in, into her chest and into her apartment, the door kicking shut with a _thunk_ behind him. He tastes like coffee and chocolate, and smells like soap and _himself_ , and he’s warm, so warm where he’s pressing against her.

They get as far as his jacket pulled off and her blouse half unbuttoned before he pulls back, hands going to her shoulders and stilling them both. “Wait, wait,” he pants out, voice deep and rough and his lips are red and a little swollen, eyes still a little shiny. Her own breath is sped up and she’s got energy running throughout her whole body.

“What is it?” she asks, voice not much better than his.

His grip tightens on her shoulders briefly before loosening, but he doesn’t let go, just holds onto her like he needs it.

“The reason I’m- I’m a mess,” he half stumbles, mouth pinching closed for a moment, “You know about James,” he states, but she nods anyway. “He- It-” he lets out a long breath, head bowing slightly towards her, but he looks back up. “I don’t- If we do this, I don’t know who you’re going to wake up next to,” he finally gets out, reaching up with a hand to push his hair back even though it’s still in a ponytail, “I don’t know who I’m going to be when I wake up. I don’t know if I’ll ever wake up again. I can’t make plans, I’m scared to go out, I don’t even know if I’ll _exist_ two hours from now!” he half yells, a little hysterically, eyes wild and wings flaring out, seeing her and not. His grip on her shoulder tightens and she lets it, studying him for a moment. She reaches up with both hands, slowly and carefully taking his face between both of them. He flinches again, but his eyes focus back on her, still wide.

She leans up after a moment, pressing her lips to his parted ones. He doesn’t respond at first, but after a moment he moves, and it’s slow again, like it was when he first moved in towards her.

She pulls back after a minute, watches his eyes pull back open to look at her, blue and warm and _scared_.

“You’re here,” she says simply. He parts his lips like he’s going to object, so she tightens her grip on the sides of his face and he stills, still panting faintly in the small space between them. “You’re _here_ ,” she says more firmly, “None of us know when we’ll die, or cease to exist, or even stop breathing. The job I have? The risks are even higher. I know it’s not quite the same as your situation, but at the same time, it _is_. And it could happen at any moment, for either of us, any time. But right now? I’m here. _You’re_ here. We’re here. In this moment. Are you here with me, Bucky?” she asks softly.

His eyes focus on her, wide now in surprise instead of hysteria and intent instead of lost.

He closes his mouth, swallows once, and nods, other hand going back to her shoulder and gripping both.

She nods back, then leans forward, and he meets her in the middle, wings slowly wrapping around her as he finishes unbuttoning her shirt, and she lets him.

\--

“What have we got now?” Steve asks, stepping into the quinjet and heading over to where Rumlow’s talking low with another strike team member. They both look over before turning to the screen mounted on the wall.

“It looks like there’s been some dealing with Kronas Corp and this particular base,” Rumlow replies, pulling up the information on the screen, “It’s given us three new locations, but they’re in a couple places we’ll have to run by headquarters first. Diplomatic complications. Might take a while.”

Steve looks over the information, memorizing the details and taking everything in as he thinks. “We’ll send it to headquarters, then,” he decides, “Let them come to a verdict on whether we should pursue or wait.”

“Understood,” Rumlow says.

Steve pauses for a moment before walking over to take a seat a little further down the wall, rolling that word over in his mind. James had said the same thing, like Steve had given him an order and not a choice. Steve has actively tried to avoid giving James any orders at all, he’s had enough of those. But what ‘orders’ is James interpreting from him?

Steve mulls it over as he waits, not letting his relief show when they get orders to head back. He shoots off a quick text to Bucky and James.

As much as he wants to eradicate Hydra - and he _does_ , knows he _always_ will, it’s one of his top most priorities - he misses his apartment with Bucky and James, and they will _always_ be _the_ top priority. He misses making brownies and watching James and Bucky both trying new things, a lot of which even Steve hasn’t tried. He misses James’ silences when he’s reading, his quiet humming when he’s listening to music. He misses Bucky smirking at him and teasing, trying to shovel junk food into his mouth like it’s going out of style. He misses them both nudging his wings with their own.

Sometimes, it hits him like a brick how little he’s participated in the world since waking up. But most of the time, it’s overshadowed by the warmth he feels when James’s wings jerk or twitch at something new that he likes, when Bucky’s eyes shoot open at the tastes of new foods or food that didn’t exist for them before, and he either scarfs it down or spits it out with a betrayed, disgruntled look. When James’ rocks gently to the music he listens to in his headphones and lays in patches of sunlight like a lazy cat, and when Bucky complains about Steve dying his wings and puts his hands on his hips like his mother used to when she disapproved of something they’d both gone and done, like getting their clothes covered in mud or their knuckles and lips busted.

Steve misses being _home_ , and realizes that, now, it finally feels like he _has_ one again.

\--

James keeps still as he wakes, like he always does, but this time he can feel something warm wrapped around his waist and breath against the top of his spine below where his hair is messily pulled back, a second heartbeat in his ears and a bed that smells of sex and...not _him_. He moves slowly, but whoever it is behind him wakes anyway, and he opens his eyes soon enough to watch their arm slowly pull back off of his naked waist, soft warm skin sliding against his ( _red hair fanned out against pale sheets, feathers brushing his_ -) He lets the memory slide away with the sensation of skin, slowly turning onto his back to find gold instead of red. It’s not hard to piece together what happened.

Agent 13 watches him carefully, still laying on her side at his left, wings behind her still and body the kind of relaxed that holds an edge of stiffness with it. She’s wary, waiting. He watches her back.

“James,” she says after a moment, voice hushed in the way that voices only ever are in morning sunlight and on body warmed sheets. Another memory pulls up, but there had been bloody handprints on those sheets, bright in a streak of sunlight, and the sheets hadn’t been navy blue.

“Agent,” he replies back calmly. She doesn’t flinch or run, doesn’t look surprised, but she does pull away and slide out of the bed, heartbeat a steady thing in his ears.

“Bucky said this might happen,” she says after a minute while tying her robe into place, turning back towards him, “Do you understand where you are?”

His eyes dart around the room, locating ten potential weapon hiding places and calculating that at least half of them must be in use. He looks back to her, slowly sitting up. “Yes,” he responds. She nods once, slow, gesturing around the room.

“His clothes should be easy enough to spot,” she says, moving towards the door, slow and obvious, “I’m going to go make some coffee. You’re free to use the shower and have some when you’re done.”

And then she’s gone, slipping out the bedroom door and out of his sight. His wings stiffen and his ears tune into her quiet movements as he slides out of the bed, collecting and pulling on his clothes piece by piece. She’s being louder for him. He finds himself appreciating it, if only a little.

He doesn’t take a shower and he doesn’t stay to have coffee, just slips quietly out of her apartment and back into Steve’s, locking the door behind him while thoughts roll around in his head, body the kind of relaxed he hasn’t felt in years, even if his own tension is back in his shoulders.

Bucky took something for himself, be it out of desperation and fear or want and desire. But if Bucky can take something for himself, doesn’t that mean that James can, too?

He heads across and down the opposite hall, stopping at his room to grab a change of clothes before heading for the shower.

\--

Steve pulls up in front of the apartment building, turning off his motorcycle and kicking out the kickstand, getting off and heading inside. He runs into Kate on the way up the stairs, frowning a little when her wings stiffen once she notices him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, stopping.

She stops too, briefly, a few steps above him. “Yes,” she says after a moment, taking the time to actually consider his question, “I’m just...I have some things on my mind that I need to think about.” She smiles after a moment, focusing back on him, “I’m glad you’re back.”

He nods once, smiling while stepping aside to let her pass. She smiles at him again, brief but genuine, and he smiles back before she turns around and continues down the stairs. He does the same, heading up.

The apartment’s not dark this time when he enters, and he pulls his boots off before heading out into the main room where the kitchen light is on, easily spotting James sitting cross legged in the middle of the couch with a book.

“Hey, James,” Steve says, pulling off his helmet.

James closes his book, looking over his shoulder at Steve, eyes a little unfocused, but with what, Steve’s not sure.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks after a moment of them just staring at one another, Steve trying to keep his pulse down from it and his wings still.

James finally nods once, wings shifting briefly before focusing on Steve. “Your mission?” he asks quietly. Steve smiles a little.

“Got a little more information, but I can’t say much more than that for now,” Steve replies, “I’ll most likely find out in a few days if I need to head out again, but for now, I’m home.” James wings twitch once, but the rest of him is unreadable.

“I like it better when you’re here,” James states quietly, turning back around after a moment and opening his book up again.

Steve freezes, staring at the back of his head for a long minute before shaking himself out of it. “I...I like it better when you’re here, too. I mean both of you. I mean-” Steve cuts himself off, mentally kicking himself when James freezes, turning his head to look back over his shoulder at Steve, eyes widened fractionally.

Steve’s probably one of the few people in the whole world who’d be able to notice. He tries not to dwell on that, it does things to his insides that remind him of Peggy. When she used to give him this quirk of a smile that he never saw her give anyone else.

“I just mean...I’m glad to be home, and I’m glad both of you are…here. It makes it feel like...home again,” Steve finishes quieter, smiling a little.

James wings flare a bit, and he watches Steve intently for what feels like years before his lips twitch up in a small smile. Steve’s breath tries to catch in his throat and he forces it to keep going. James doesn’t say anything, but Steve doesn’t need him to.

Steve smiles back, heading for his room while James goes back to his book, wings shifting slightly against the couch like they can’t help themselves. It’s adorable, and Steve firmly forces that thought out of his head.

\--

James comes up to him in the kitchen the next morning carrying his laptop, holding it out to Steve like an offering with the screen facing him. Steve sees a man in the Skype chat, glasses on his long-ish nose and brown hair side swept across his forehead, a patient expression on his face.

“ _Hello, Captain Rogers_ ,” the man says calmly, “ _I need to speak with you_.”

“Oh,” Steve says, blinking a little blearily for a moment before setting his mug of coffee down and carefully taking the laptop from James, James looking at him for a moment before retreating. Steve watches him disappear down the hall before looking down to the laptop tiredly, glancing over at the table before balancing the laptop on one arm and grabbing his mug of coffee with the other, taking both over to the table on the edge of the kitchen and sitting down.

“What is it...Doctor Harington, I presume?” Steve asks, taking a sip of his coffee. The voice sounds like the one from before he left when he accidentally interrupted James’ session, and Steve doubts Bucky and James would be talking to anyone else on the computer. It’s a possibility ( _it could be Hydra, his mind whispers_ ), but he doubts it. He shakes the thought away.

“ _Yes. And I need to talk with you about Bucky_ ,” Doctor Harington replies, a note in his voice that has Steve putting his coffee down and turning his full attention on the screen, more awake now.

“What is it?” Steve asks, hands gripping the edge of the table in front of him.

Doctor Harington shifts a little in the video window, brown feathers rustling quietly, eyes darting to the side before looking back up at Steve.

“ _I can’t divulge patient information, but I do need to discuss something important with you that you may not be aware of. I can talk about this with you_ ,” he heads him off when Steve starts to open his mouth, “ _I won’t mention anything specific from Bucky or James’ sessions with me. But there is something Director Fury thought I should talk with you about, especially since you’re the one staying with them, and recently it has become more imperative that I do so, that is all_.”

Steve nods after a moment, wings still at his back while he waits.

“ _First of all, what do you think of James?_ ” he asks, and Steve blinks, frowning a little.

“Are you asking me because you want to know my opinion, or because it relates to what you need to tell me?” Steve asks.

Doctor Harington smiles. “ _I’m asking because it directly relates to what I need to discuss with you_.”

Steve sits back in his chair a little, taking a moment to think. “He’s his own person,” Steve finally answers, shrugging his wings a little, “He’s...in some ways, he reminds me of Bucky, just small things, but mostly he’s just...James.” He can’t really think of a better way to put it.

Doctor Harington nods, shifting a little again. “ _And you’re right, James is his own person_ ,” he replies, “ _But do you understand that he **is also** Bucky?_ ”

Steve frowns a little, eyebrows pulling together. “I’m...not sure what you mean.”

“ _Think of it this way_ ,” Doctor Harington starts, picking up a pencil from out of frame and holding it up in view, vertical in front of himself, “ _This is the Bucky you knew before and during the war_.” Steve nods once, letting him know he’s following. Doctor Harington shifts the pencil a little in his grip. “ _Now, during his time with Hydra, his memory was taken from him_ ,” Doctor Harington turns the pencil horizontal and Steve swallows once, trying to push the memories down, “ _Leaving him in a state of...I’ll say repression_.” He turns the pencil back up, vertical. “ _Then we took him into our custody, and he slowly started to get his memories back, but it wasn’t a constant, streamline process_.” He reaches off screen again and brings another pencil into view, holding it up so it branches off from the first pencil in a ‘y’ shape. “ _The memories he has gotten back as ‘ **Bucky** ’ have mostly been from his time **before** The Winter Soldier, while most of the memories that ‘ **James** ’ has recovered cover only those years **as** The Winter Soldier, and not his time before that_.” Steve swallows again, something like dread curling in his gut. “ _Do you understand where I’m going with this?_ ” Doctor Harington asks.

Steve has to take a moment, and can’t speak, so he nods his head once. Doctor Harington nods back, expression calm but gentle in a way that reminds Steve a little of Bruce, in his quieter moments.

Doctor Harington gestures with the first pencil as he talks. “ _This crude demonstration of ‘Bucky’ is the Bucky that holds those memories of your time together before your last mission of 1944_.” Steve holds his wings very still, focused and suddenly feeling very, very empty. “ _ **This** pencil, ‘James’,_ ” Doctor Harington continues, gesturing with the second pencil, “ _Is the Bucky that remembers his time almost solely as **The Winter Soldier**. They are **both** Bucky, but the ‘ **Bucky** ’ part of him, the one that calls himself that, is mostly the one that you grew up with. The ‘ **James** ’ part of him is the one that formed as a result of the great mental pressure and strain of starting to learn what he had done as **The Winter Soldier** , as well I’m sure as from other factors, such as the sudden break of his seventy year conditioning, the stress of seeing you and Agent Romanoff, familiar and clearly very memorable figures from his past to be able to recall you both so quickly, along with being in a ‘captive’ environment, and many more that I could go on listing_.”

“So he-” Steve cuts himself off, taking a moment to clear his throat when it comes out hoarse, “So, he wouldn’t have...split, like this, if we had done things different?” Steve makes himself ask, guilt rising up past his throat and trying to swallow him whole.

Doctor Harington puts the pencils down as he thinks, looking back up at Steve after a moment. “ _It’s very difficult to say. I’ve never seen a case quite like his, Dissociative Identity Disorder - which is very rare - or otherwise. And I can’t say for certain if things would have ended up any different, if they could have been better. But, I do know for certain that they could have been **a lot worse**_.”

Steve nods once, biting the inside of his lower lip.

“ _I am not laying blame on you, Captain Rogers_ ,” he says, calm and gentle again.

“Steve,” Steve corrects automatically. He’s having a hard time thinking straight, thoughts a gnarled tangle.

Doctor Harington smiles, still gentle and calm, and nods once. “ _I’m not placing blame, Steve. I’m only trying to help you understand something very important about Bucky and James that I think you need to be aware of, and not just for your sake_.”

Steve sits up a little straighter. “What do you mean?”

“ _I can’t say_ ,” Doctor Harington replies, “ _But you need to understand this, it’s important that you do_.”

Steve nods once. “So they’re both…” he trails off after a moment, clearing his throat again, “So they’re both Bucky. But the ‘Bucky’ part of him is before The Winter Soldier, while the ‘James’ part basically _is_ The Winter Soldier,” Steve summarizes.

Doctor Harington nods, and Steve sits back in his chair a little again, wings twitching once and stomach roiling. He thinks he might be sick.

“ _Are you alright?_ ” Doctor Harington asks after a long, silent minute. Steve starts to shake his head then stops himself, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yes. No. It’s just-” Steve cuts himself off again when his voice starts to wobble. He clears his throat, lowering his hand but keeping his eyes on the table, not looking up. He doesn’t think he can right now. “If that’s true, Bucky won’t remember everything that happened to him while he was The Winter Soldier, but James…” Steve trails off, the backs of his eyes stinging.

“ _I have seen his x-rays_ ,” Doctor Harington says gently after a minute, “ _And his brain scans. I understand that the scarring is...extensive. On both counts_.”

All Steve can do is nod, fists clenching hard in his lap.

“ _Bucky has most likely retained some, if not most of The Winter Soldier’s trained skills_ ,” Doctor Harington says after another moment, “ _But_ -”

“But he won’t remember how he got them. Just that he can use them,” Steve finishes for him, finally glancing back up at the screen.

Doctor Harington nods. “ _He’s shown signs of it, but I thought I would mention it, just in case_.”

They’re quiet again for a few minutes, Doctoring Harington letting Steve take the time to absorb the information and Steve... _trying_ to.

“ _That was all I needed to talk with you about,_ ” Doctor Harington says calmly, “ _I was a little worried this would bother you, but you have adjusted to both personalities quite well. I see I was worried for no reason_.”

Steve looks up to see him smiling that same smile, and manages to get his lips to curve up a little in return. It feels like one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, right now.

“ _You don’t need to take the laptop back to James_ ,” Doctor Harington says, “ _His session was finished when I asked to speak with you_.”

Steve nods once and says a barely managed farewell before ending the call, eyes catching on the picture in the corner of the app. They start to sting again when he looks closer to see James sitting in front of the laptop with a slightly quirked eyebrow, wings relaxed and himself in the background, and he has to shut the laptop lid before running to the bathroom, closing the door and turning the shower on, finally letting himself cry.

He tries to keep his voice down, muffled where he’s biting his wrist, and his stomach from getting rid of the coffee he managed to have before the video call, but he ends up crying so hard he almost throws up anyway.

\--

James comes out after the sun has started to set to find Steve sitting at the table by the kitchen, hands clasped in his lap and wings unmoving at his back, eyes on the tabletop. He’s dressed in jeans and a little looser tshirt, dark blue jacket over it like he was wearing for his ‘date’, and doesn’t stir when James moves closer. He does jump when their wings brush just slightly, head shooting up and eyes widening a little.

“Oh, hey,” Steve says, voice a little distant. He clears his throat, eyes focusing. “Hey, James,” he amends, voice still sounding... _off_.

“You’re…unfocused,” James states, quiet.

Steve blinks at him for a moment, shaking his head briefly before rubbing his face with a hand. “I- Yeah, a little,” he concedes quietly, letting his hand drop back to his lap, “Doctor Harington let me know that- You’re Bucky, but not _Bucky_  Bucky,” he adds quickly when James stills, “You’re still _you_. He just…” Steve lets out a sigh, “Told me what I already knew.”

James’ lips pull down slightly, eyebrows pulling a little together. “Then why are you...” he trails off. He’s not sure how to ask whatever it is he’s trying to ask.

Steve doesn’t look at him, stares down at the table for a long silent moment instead before speaking. “Because he...also told me something I hadn’t...considered before.” He rubs his face again with a hand, finally looking up at him. James finds he wishes he hadn’t. “He told me that you...you don’t remember much as ‘Bucky’, and I knew that already,” Steve says, eyes...sad? Despair? James isn’t sure there’s one word for it. “But he...made me realize that you remember almost everything as The Winter Soldier. How you became it.” James wings stiffen, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“You find me repulsive,” he states quietly, something in his gut clenching and his heart feeling like it’s gone still in his chest. It’s the only conclusion that makes sense.

“What?” Steve asks, “No! That’s not-” He pushes himself up from the table quickly, chair skidding a bit with it. “I’m- I’m angry...and upset that you remember the things that were done to you, but not- I don’t want to take your memories away,” Steve adds quickly when James tenses again, “I just hate that you-...that you had to go through what they did to you at all,” he finishes quietly.

Steve’s eyes have gone shinier in the light and James realizes his own have widened when he has to blink, wings flared out at his back. There’s the sound of thunder, somewhere in the distance, and he idly takes note of it, though he doesn’t know why. He’s having a hard time focusing. He doesn’t know _why_.

They stare at each other for a long minute, before the thunder cracks outside somewhere a little closer and Steve jolts out of his thoughts, eyes darting towards the nearest clock. “Shit,” he curses quietly, “I have to go. I’m going to be late,” he says, mostly to himself, eyes quickly finding their way back to James. He hesitates, and somehow that gets James to pull himself out of his own head.

“You should go,” he says, and it sounds a little off to his own ears, flat. Steve notices, too, if his grimace is anything to go by.

“I could stay,” Steve says quietly, fingers curling into their own fists at his sides, “I should stay.” James shakes his head slightly after a moment.

Steve’s mouth flattens a little and he nods once, looking down at the floor for a moment before turning towards the door. James feels his mouth pinch, anger in his chest as he watches Steve put on his shoes. It doesn’t take him long to realize it’s at himself, for pushing Steve away. But he shouldn’t...He shouldn’t _want_ -

Steve pauses in the open doorway, almost silhouetted by the light spilling into the hall, half turning towards him and opening his mouth, but nothing comes.

James doesn’t move, standing in the light of the kitchen and living room, and Steve turns back around, closing the door and quietly locking it behind him. The _click_ of it, somehow, sounds final. But for what, James doesn’t know.

His fists clench.

\--

Steve’s barely in the air for five minutes when it starts raining, plastering his hair to his face and soaking through his feathers. There’s not many people out flying, so the sky is mostly empty, and Steve thinks about landing and walking the rest of the way, maybe calling and rescheduling the date, but Ian’s going to be there already, waiting-

Something clenches in Steve’s chest and his wing beats stutter in time with a streak of lightning across the sky, and he finds he wants-

\-- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gVEsA6BSsWc

James turns all of the lights off and sits under the large window in the mostly empty room joined with the left side of the living room, cross legged on the wood flooring and eyes on the sky he can see up through the slats of the blinds. He lets his eyes track the lightning that streaks across and up into the darkening, bruise colored sky, bathed in the brief flashes of light.

It calms something down inside him, even while the rest of him wants to get up and run out the door, or open the window and launch himself out into the rain, find Steve and make him come _back_ -

He shouldn’t.

He stays put.

The water hits the window like gunfire, and that’s calming, too.

He keeps himself still, fingers gripping his knees every five seconds, one harder than the other, feathers fanned out across the floor. They’re starting to get messy again.

He should take care of them himself, shouldn’t ask Steve to groom them.

The apartment’s completely dark when he hears the lock on the front door _click_ open ten minutes later. He glances over his shoulder and into the dark living room, watching light briefly spill in from down the far hall and quickly getting up when he recognizes the footsteps his hearing picks up.

He walks back out into the living room to find Steve soaking wet just inside the room past the hall that leads to the front door, water dripping onto the wood from his wings, his clothes, his hair. His eyes quickly find James, even before the flash of lightning illuminates the room for a brief second, leaving an afterimage in his eyes.

“Steve,” James says quietly, eyes widened slightly and wings flared out a little in surprise.

Steve stares at him for a long moment, eyes both open and guarded all at once, keys still gripped in his right hand. His grip tightens, briefly, before his body relaxes a little and he lets them go, metal crashing to the floor, jarring and sudden. And then Steve’s moving, like that’s shaken him into action, striding forward, and James finds himself moving, too.

He shouldn’t.

He shouldn’t want.

 _He shouldn’t **want**_ -

...But Bucky _**took**_ , and James wants to _take, **too**_. _Wants to take **Steve**_ -

Steve’s hands come up before he’s even there, one grabbing hold of the front of James’ shirt and the other going to the side of his neck while James reaches up to grab the sides of Steve’s face, pulling each other _in_ -

Their lips collide, his heart beats in his ears with the thunder overhead outside and the sound of Steve’s breath puffing against his face, warm even though the water’s cold where it’s soaking through the front of his clothes, Steve’s skin overheated underneath even though he’s soaking wet. The lightning flashes again, lighting up the backs of his eyelids.

Steve lets out a sound mixed of surprise and a groan, and James opens his mouth against Steve’s to swallow it down, metal fingers sliding up and around to the back of Steve’s neck, up into his hair, switching hands when he can’t grip it because the strands keep slipping against his metal fingers. Steve groans again when he finally gets a hold of it, opening his own lips against James’ and pulling him closer, hand in his shirt going down to wind itself around James’ waist, wings moving forward and wrapping around them both.

James pulls Steve closer, winding his left arm around Steve’s waist and locking them together, wings jerking forward and shoving themselves under Steve’s without his say.

Steve lets out another surprised sound but doesn’t pull away, instead shifts his wings after a minute while he changes the angle of the kiss, noses bumping together briefly while his wings move to slide under James’ and James moves his own, a flash of thought of those two women from his talk with Sam streaking across his mind like lightning. He covers Steve’s wings with his own, letting out a sound he can’t think enough to decipher but knows he’s never made with _Natalia_ into Steve’s mouth. And Steve swallows it down like James had his, letting out his own desperate sound in response while his fingers slide back and up to tangle into James’ hair.

They slow after a few more minutes of pulling hands and frantic lips, kisses slowing to longer ones that eventually trail off into just a light press of lips, slowing to them just standing there with their lips barely touching and their eyes closed, arms, hands, and wings still tangled up in each other. James opens his eyes after they’ve been like that for a while, only pulling his head back enough to look at Steve.

The lightning flashes again when Steve opens his eyes and it lights them up white, brighter than his painted wings.

The thunder cracks again overhead but he can’t hear it over the sound of his and Steve’s heartbeats in his ears, of Steve’s breath puffing soft against his face, hands gripping his hair and his shirt.

The front of his clothes are soaked through and his wings are wet and he can’t feel it, because Steve’s warmer than the sunlight James sometimes likes to doze in, and Steve’s feathers are softer than the old, warm sweatpants Steve let him and Bucky keep when they didn’t give them back, even wet.

There’s something struggling to burst out of his ribcage and for once he doesn’t care if he can identify it or not, just wants to let it consume him and burn him up like the lightning painting the sky outside.

So he does.

\--

Bucky shifts, blinking his eyes open and stretching out along the bed with a yawn, both arms going above his head and toes fanning out with his feathers. He shoves himself up and out of bed, and finds Steve... _sitting on_ the counter, hunching over the mug of coffee in his hands a little, comfortably, and another sitting ready next to the coffee maker. Bucky shuffles over and pours himself a cup, hopping up to sit next to Steve on the counter after, coffee not sloshing a bit. It’s a little unnerving, but he decides to ignore it and bump his right shoulder into Steve’s instead, raising an eyebrow when Steve looks over while taking a sip.

“So…” he trails off. Steve raises an eyebrow. “How’d it go with...what’shisname? Ian?”

Steve rolls his eyes, lips twitching up as he looks back down into his cup. He’s not surprised Steve likes guys, couldn’t care less. Where they were living? He remembers some of it, and Steve having a thing for fellas doesn't phase him a bit. He kind of wishes Steve had told him, but he might have and Bucky just can’t remember it. If he didn’t though, that’d make sense too. If it just never came up.

“I didn’t make it to the restaurant,” Steve says a little quietly, taking a sip of his coffee.

Bucky’s eyebrows rise before pulling together. “Why not?”

“Rain storm,” Steve replies, looking back down into his mug. Bucky frowns a little.

“And…?” he asks. Steve glances over at him, mouth pulling down a little.

“‘And’ what?” Steve asks, but Bucky knows when Steve’s avoiding, even if the rest of the world is apparently blind to Steve’s personality under the mask and shield.

Bucky just stares him down, expression flat as he takes a sip of his coffee, and Steve finally relents with a sigh. But his wings tense at his sides and Bucky finds himself doing the same, bracing for...whatever it is.

Steve clears his throat, staring into his coffee like it holds the answers to all of his problems, and Bucky lets out his own sigh. Steve gives a jerk when Bucky nudges him with a wing (and Steve’s are still _white_. He’ll have to try harder) and his eyes dart over to him, looking more nervous than Bucky can remember him being in a long time. Not since Bucky asked him about a detail in a plan during the war and Steve told him he was taking Dernier’s dynamite with him through an inferno, because _that_ was a brilliant plan.

Steve’s eyes drop back to his coffee for a moment and Bucky watches him swallow once and take a breath, sitting up straight and squaring his shoulders, looking over at Bucky’s like he’s about to tell him he’s going to take on a whole fleet of Hydra by himself. Again. Bucky feels his own expression go serious, humor and teasing slipping back and nerves coiling tight in his gut. He sets his mug down on the counter back behind him.

“I-...Bucky, I don’t...know how to tell you this,” Steve says, quietly, a worried line between his eyebrows and eyes torn, but focused on him.

Bucky swallows down the nerves jumping up from his gut to his chest, taking a breath himself. “Just spit it out, Steve.”

Steve stares at him for one long, nerve wracking moment, finally nodding once slightly to himself before saying, “James and I-”

Bucky stiffens, and then is off the counter in a flash before Steve can even finish, heading for the hall and his room.

“Bucky, _wait_ -” he hears Steve call after him, steps following quick. Bucky manages to get to his room with enough time to close his door firmly behind him, blocking off Steve’s entering.

“ _Bucky_ …” Steve says through the door, and Bucky’s fists clench. He glares down at the left one. “I didn’t-... _I’m sorry_ ,” Steve says quieter, something _thunking_ against the other side of the door gently, probably Steve’s head.

Bucky stays where he is, waits ten minutes, still as a statue until he hears Steve’s quiet steps retreat and his own bedroom door squeak slightly as it’s closed. He lets out a slow breath before stalking over to the desk.

\--

“ _I told you to leave him the **fuck** out of it_ ,” Bucky growls out from the screen, voice pitched low so Steve won’t hear it, he’s sure. “ _He’s **off limits, James**_.”

He narrows his eyes at the video almost at the same time Bucky’s do, both of their wings stiff at their backs.

“ _ **Leave him alone**_ ,” Bucky growls out, wings fanned out and feathers spread in warning, and then the video comes to an abrupt end with Bucky practically jamming his finger ( _of his right hand_ ) on the laptop.

James’ mouth pinches and he glares at the screen, wings twitching where they’re still stiff at his back when he hears footsteps outside his door.

“ _Bucky…?_ ” he hears through the wood, pushing himself up quickly out of his chair and walking over, opening the door to find Steve, eyes and nose slightly red and wings slumped at his back. They jerk up almost immediately after the door opens, eyes widening. “James,” Steve breathes out, going still.

James lets go of the door handle, lets the door slide open a few inches under the momentum and reaches forward, freezing when Steve gives a jerk at his fingers skimming the back of Steve’s hand. James pulls his back slowly and Steve’s eyes go a sad he’s never seen in them before. He hates it.

“I- I need to go into S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Steve stumbles out after a moment, eyes dropping somewhere off to the side, not looking at him, “Fury needs to see me about a possible op-”

He cuts off when James’ fingers touch his jaw, lightly, eyes widening again and darting back to his face.

James doesn’t move closer like he wants, keeps his wings still at his back and away from Steve, keeps the space between them, but he also keeps his fingertips on Steve’s jaw, light but firm. Steve swallows once, eyes locked on his, mask slowly cracking the longer they stare at each other. “ _James_ ,” he says quietly, voice cracking, and Steve’s hand comes up, slowly, wrapping his fingers around James’ and holding them there, eyes a little shinier in the light.

Steve lets go after a few minutes and James lets his hand move back to his side. Steve clears his throat again, blinking a few times and straightening up a little. “I...I’ll try to talk to Bucky later, the next time I see him,” Steve says, quiet but decisive. James looks at him for a moment before nodding slightly, and Steve nods back, lips twitching up before he turns to go.

James watches him until he’s around the corner, then stands just inside his doorway until he hears the apartment’s front door click closed and lock.

He turns around and walks calmly back to the computer, sitting down and starting a video recording, teeth gritting and building anger in his chest.

\--

“We’re going to wait a few more days,” Fury says from behind his desk. Steve turns back around from where he’d been looking at the files pulled up on the large screen from across the room. “Root out anything more that we can before we send you out with the team.”

“Has Hydra made any more moves since we started clearing out the houses?” Steve asks.

Fury shakes his head slightly, letting out a sigh as he leans back in his chair. “Suspicious, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Steve agrees, expression grim. “Either they don’t know what we’re doing…”

“Or they’re already at least three steps ahead of us and about to make a move,” Fury finishes where he left off, turning his head a little to look out the large windows, dark gray wings as unmoving as always at his back. Steve glances out the windows too.

“I’ve got Agent Romanoff looking into things,” Fury says after a few moments, turning back to him. Steve looks back. “And you’re wanted down in Training Room One.” Steve lets out a breath and inclines his head slightly in question. “Rumlow wants to see you about something,” Fury answers. Steve nods once and turns to leave, heading for the elevator to take it down.

When he steps through the training room doors, Rumlow’s in the center of the seemingly empty room with another agent who goes down hard on the mat after another twenty seconds, landing with a resounding _thud_. Rumlow turns towards Steve after a moment, breathing only a little hard while the other agent picks himself up, heading for the locker rooms without another word as Steve walks over, passing him.

“That was quick,” Steve jokes as the doors close behind him.

“ _Ha_ ,” Rumlow lets out, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead as he heads over to the edge of the mat where his water bottle is sitting on the floor next to a bag. “We’ve been at it for half an hour,” he says before taking a drink, offering it to Steve who shakes his head slightly. Rumlow shrugs and closes the lid, setting it back on the floor. “You up for a spar?”

Steve’s about to decline but pauses, glancing at the mat in thought. He could use a break from all of the thoughts swirling around in his head, on a repeat of: _Bucky James Bucky James **Bucky James**_ \- He raises eyebrows a little as he looks back to Rumlow. “You sure?”

Rumlow scoffs and then grins, getting into position on the mat, wings flaring out a little. “Wouldn’t’ve asked otherwise,” he replies back.

Steve snorts and pulls his jacket off, letting it drop at the edge of the mat as he walks to the center, getting into his own position, fists up like Rumlow’s and wings angled back.

\--

The door opens and closes without the sound of footsteps, and he doesn’t have to look to know who it is. “What did you find?”

“Snakes in the system,” Natasha replies cooly. He sits up straighter in his chair and turns to look at her.

“How many?” he asks.

Her expression doesn’t change, but her wings shift slightly in unease. “Too many.”

The door bursts open a minute later and he pulls a gun out of his shoulder holster while she pulls two out of her thigh holsters, both firing as shots fill the room.

Looks like he was right, they _are_ a few steps ahead.

\--

Steve dodges a dark brown wing and aims one of his own, managing to knock Rumlow off balance and connect a kick to his stomach. Rumlow lands on his back ten feet away with a _whoosh_ and doesn’t get back up, a laugh bubbling out of him a moment later. Steve joins in, even though he’s not sure what’s so funny.

“What?” Steve asks after a moment, laughter dying down.

“Nothing,” Rumlow replies, pushing himself back up onto his feet, “You just send me airborne every time, like I weigh nothing.”

Steve smiles a little, holding in the frown he actually wants to show instead, something churning in his gut that’s old and he doesn’t think will ever go away. He’ll always be _different_. As he is now, it’s better than the different he was before, but in a lot of ways, it’s also worse.

Rumlow goes back for his water and takes a swig, offering it over to Steve again after.

Steve hesitates for a moment before taking it, gulping down his fair share and accidentally finishing the rest of the bottle. “Uh,” he says, staring down at it before looking back up at Rumlow a little apologetically. “Sorry,” he says, handing it back, and Rumlow takes it with a small smirk.

“It’s fine,” he says, setting it back on the ground, but his image blurs a little and Steve stumbles even though he hasn’t taken a step. “Whoa. You okay there, big guy?” Rumlow asks, coming over to steady him with a hand on his arm and shoulder.

“I- No,” Steve manages to get out, tongue a little thick in his mouth. He shakes his head quickly but that just makes it worse. He brings a hand up to his face and closes his eyes for a minute, thoughts going sluggish and slow even as he comes to a conclusion.

He shoves Rumlow away, arms half uncoordinated and balance shot to hell, but he manages it, looking up at Rumlow and trying to curl his hands into fists, raise them up in front of himself like he’s done thousands of times, even before the serum.

Rumlow backs up a few steps, hands up in a placating gesture.

“What have you done,” Steve demands, narrowing his eyes a little to try and bring them more into focus. It doesn’t work very well.

“What do you mean?” Rumlow asks, keeping his distance.

“I mean, _what did you give me?_ ” Steve asks as bitingly as he can manage.

Rumlow stares at him for another moment before letting his hands drop to his sides, relaxing his stance and wings shifting out a little, facade dropping like it was never there to begin with, dropping a weight into Steve’s stomach with it. “Oh. That.”

Steve tenses. Rumlow smiles.

Even with his vision blurred, blurring to the point that it used to be _before_ , Steve can tell it’s not a nice one.

\--

“ _I woke next to Agent 13_ ,” James says stiffy from the video, wings tense at his back, “ _You’ve taken something for yourself. I have nothing. I have wanted for **nothing** because I have never **wanted**._ ”

Bucky’s wings jerk slightly and James on the screen pauses. Bucky stares, transfixed. He’s _never_ shown this much emotion.

“ _I want Steve,_ ” James says, and Bucky bristles, but James’ wings flare out, quick and fast as he leans towards the screen like something prowling, left hand shining where he braces it on the wood, silent and dangerous.

And it’s _terrifying_ , seeing his body move in a way he’s never moved it before, can’t remember it _ever_ moving, but seeing it with his own eyes all the same ( _his **own** eyes_...).

He jerks out of his thoughts as James continues.

“ _I will leave him alone if he does not want me, but he does_ ,” he says, voice lowering as he growls out the next part, “ _And if you **ever make him cry again** , you **will** have to worry about **me**_.”

The video ends and Bucky stares at the frozen image for a long minute, wings and body tense.

He pushes himself up quickly and walks fast out of his room, down both halls and out of the apartment, heading straight to Agent 13’s door. He knocks quickly and waits impatiently for her to answer.

The door opens and her face lights up briefly before taking in his expression, the tenseness of his wings. “What is it?” she asks, tone urgent and eyes serious.

“I need you to take me into custody,” he says seriously.

Her eyes widen a little. “What do you-”

There’s an explosion from behind him that blows him forward, both of them toppling to the floor in her apartment. Her phone goes off seconds later and she bring it up to her ear while she pulls a gun out of... _somewhere_.

“Sir?!” she yells into it. His ears are ringing, hers must be too.

He shakes his head as he quickly pushes himself up, wings flaring a little to shield her as he looks over his shoulder, catching sight of his arm’s plates shifting under his shirt, the material moving with them slightly.

There’s a hole in the side of the building, across from her door and partway into Steve’s apartment, the building across the street untouched. He can see part of a familiar kitchen through a huge chunk of missing wall connected to Steve’s apartment.

His hearing slowly starts to return to normal and he manages to catch, “- _Hydra in S.H.I.E.L.D. Rogers_ -” coming out of the phone and his head snaps back around to Agent 13, eyes widening.

“Yes, sir,” she replies, ending the call and looking back at him as she pushes herself up. He moves to do the same, jumping up to his feet.

“ _Steve_ ,” he says urgently, and her mouth thins, shaking her head slightly.

“You shouldn’t,” she says, “They’re probably trying to get you back. He’s bait.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” he says, eyes darting around after a moment before spotting and immediately heading for the kitchen.

“Bucky-” she calls to his back, eyes darting to her front door as she follows.

He pulls a knife out of the drawer, setting his right hand on the counter and spreading out his fingers. “What are you doing?” she demands, rushing over to his side and gripping his metal wrist where it’s raised.

“Tell James what happened,” he orders, staring down at his hand, biting the inside of his lip briefly as he shoves down everything trying to tangle up in his chest and head. “He’ll be able to help Steve more than I can.” And then he brings the knife down, barely registering the pain before-

\--

Steve lands on his back with a grunt, right wing catching briefly under him before he rolls a little onto his left side and stretches it out. A boot comes down on it a second later and he bites off a pained sound, rolling onto his back and barring the sound in with clenched teeth.

“I have to say, it seems like that drug works like a charm,” Rumlow says from somewhere above him, “A few faked sips and you bought right into it.” His vision’s gone a little more blurry, but he can see the calm expression on Rumlow’s face almost just fine. It’s been a while since he’s had less than perfect vision, but he’s adjusting quickly, deciphering shapes. It’s like riding a bike, forget that he started with a motorcycle first.

“You’re Hydra,” he gets out, sweeping out a clumsy leg that gets easily blocked by Rumlow’s own, holding in a yell when Rumlow grinds his boot down into the feathers, muscles, and bones of his right wing.

“I am,” Rumlow confirms, leaning over Steve with a forearm on his knee.

“That’s why you kept trying to get me to go out with you and the team,” Steve says next, trying to think past the fog in his mind. It’s so _slow_.

“Guilty,” Rumlow says lightly, a smile in his voice, “You wouldn’t bite, though. This was actually my last attempt at playing nice, but it figures that’s when you’d finally take it.”

“Couldn’t fight me down without it, huh,” Steve says, getting a fist across the face for it. He spits what tastes like blood off to the side. _That’s_ familiar, too. “So what now,” he says, turning his face back up, “You beat me to death?”

“Ha, no,” Rumlow replies, shifting a little above him, the dark shapes of his wings fanning out a bit. “I’ve been ordered to cause pain, both to you _and_ the Asset.”

Steve lets out a dark laugh, resting the back of his head on the mat. He looks back up. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m used to that,” he gets out with a small, rebellious smirk.

Rumlow’s quiet for a moment, and something in Steve’s gut squirms in warning as the smirk slowly fades off of his face. Quiet’s never good when it comes from someone who has the upperhand, fogged as his mind is, he knows that too well for it to be forgotten.

“There’s all kinds of pain, Cap,” Rumlow says, voice steady. Steve swallows once, trying to rack his mind for what that might mean. Torture? Hostages? Bucky isn’t here for Rumlow to do the second, neither is his neighbor or Peggy, unless there’s another team going after-

 _Bucky_ -

The hem of his shirt is pushed up a little and then there’s the feel of warm fingers curling against his skin, and his stomach jumps at the contact. The fingers curl, grip the front of his jeans and belt and give them a tug _up_ , lifting the top of them inch or so off of his skin. Steve goes still, mind abruptly coming to a halt, a weight forming in his stomach as he stares up.

Rumlow looks back down, expression mostly blank but Steve can spot a small smirk still lifting up a corner of his mouth. He leans down over Steve, boot grinding a little further into his right wing that has Steve gritting his teeth again.

“We’ve been watching you for a while,” Rumlow says, a little quieter, “And it took a while to find it. I kept thinking, ‘How could I cause pain to the Asset and have it actually _stick_ ’. He’s used to it, after all.” Steve’s heart clenches, and Rumlow goes on. “So I got to wondering. That Asset’s been acting almost human the few times we’ve observed him out and about, talking and flying on his own, _playing tag_ ,” he says, the last bit coming with a bitter twist of his lips, voice curling towards disgust before his expression evens out again, voice going back to casual but lowering to something a little more intimate. “So I wonder. If you two have gotten so _close_ , how much would it pain him to find you...damaged. _Dirtied_. Brought down to his level from that pedestal everyone loves to put you on.”

The hand gripping the top of his jeans stays where it is but other fingers move in and brush along his jaw. Steve swipes at them with his hand, but Rumlow grips him by the wrist and forces his hand down, and it’s too easy. He feels weaker than he ever has, strength zapped. Like his body has regressed to eight years old and he can barely put any _weight_ and _force_ behind _anything_. Like it’s just not _there_.

His pants get tugged an inch or so down his waist and he swallows again, but otherwise keeps himself from reacting.

“What do you _think, Cap?_ ” Rumlow asks, quiet, lips pulling up again after a moment. “With all his new _freedoms_ and _choices_ ,” Rumlow says, disgustingly sweet, “Do you think he’d _want you then?_ ”

Steve grits his teeth.

\--

“Rogers is in Training Room One!” Fury shouts across the office, firing a few shots over the top of his desk. “Get to him!”

“On it!” Natasha calls back, firing a few more shots where she’s crouched behind the long couch opposite his desk before darting for the door during a brief interval in enemy fire, Fury covering her with a few well aimed shots when they peer around the sides of the doorway.

Her red disappears around the corner, end of her long feathers trailing fast and out of sight, a few gunshots following her out.

\--

Steve tries to take a swing with his other fist but Rumlow easily takes a hold of it, clumsy throw that it is, bringing it down with the first and getting a grip on both wrists with one hand before pushing them down to the mat above Steve’s head. He tries to snap his left wing up when Rumlow reaches down again for his jeans, but a dark wing pushes it down quick and hard to the mat, feathers burying into his own, and it feels _wrong_. Steve tries to struggle again when he hears the leather of his belt slide out of the belt loop on his jeans and the metal of the buckle being undone soon after, but Rumlow shifts and straddles his thighs, left wing moving to shove down into Steve’s right instead of using his boot.

He can’t do _anything_. He’s never felt so damn _helpless_ before. Not like this. It’s never been **_like this_** -

“Feeling helpless already?” Rumlow asks casually, flicking the top button of his jeans open.

Steve grits his teeth, replying, “I didn’t peg you for being into _guys_ ,” trying to get him talking. Stall for time. _Anything_ -

Rumlow pauses, letting out a derisive snort as he gets his fingers on Steve’s zipper.

“I’m _not_ ,” Rumlow almost snarls out, disgust in his voice, smoothing his tone out as he continues, “But these are my orders, and all soldiers have to make a sacrifice. You know how it is.”

Steve hears his zipper get pulled down and holds his breath, heart pounding in his ears and dread in his gut, fear. _He can’t **do a damn thing**_ -

His underwear gets pulled down a little and fingers skim the base of his cock, stomach jumping, before a door suddenly _bangs_ open somewhere off to his right - the one he’d come in through earlier - and Rumlow whips around sideways at the same time Steve does. He can’t tell who it is, but he hears a low growl start after a moment and hears a familiar, metallic whir, sees two white pillars of white slowly rise up-

“Bucky…?” he asks quietly. Rumlow lets out a quiet curse and then he’s suddenly off of Steve, the figure running towards them, wings snapping down to his back and running _fast_ , fast _like_ -

Steve pushes himself up while watching the blurred figures move, head spinning a little at the sudden elevation. His vision’s gotten worse, he can’t make out any details now unless they’re close to his face.

The white one ducks a punch and sweeps a leg up and a wing out while Rumlow dodges the leg and blocks the wing with his own, aiming a punch that gets sideswept before getting shoved back with another white wing and a growl.

The white one darts in, sharp and quick, and Steve hears a choking sound as Rumlow gets lifted up off of the ground with a vicious snarl, and then it’s just the sounds of him choking for a moment and frantically flapping wings before there’s a resounding _snap_ , body dropped and hitting the floor with a loud _thud_. The figure with white wings quickly walks over to him, crouching down in front of him as Steve stares up.

Neither move for a moment, but Steve feels eyes on him and hears another low growl as the prickle of a gaze sweeps down low before it’s quiet again, and then a hand is lifting and there’s the light press of fingertips on his jaw.

“ _Steve_ ,” he hears, quiet and urgent.

“ _James_ ,” Steve says quietly, breath picking up a little. It’s slow, through the fog, but his chest goes a little tight-

“Can you see?” James asks after a moment, wings flared out a little towards him.

“It’s blurry,” Steve manages, quiet, thoughts still somewhat vacant and slow as molasses, “And my head’s real foggy.”

James makes another sound, a growl on a breath, and the fingers press a little more firmly to Steve’s jaw while the white of his wings flares up more and James leans in closer. The fingers slide off of his jaw and gently pull up his zipper, the sound loud in the silence. Steve focuses his eyes on James’ instead of looking. It’s still hard to see them, but this close he can make out the frosted blue.

His belt is rebuckled next and then James is looking at him again. Steve reaches up, unthinkingly even as James freezes, and runs the pad of his index finger lightly down the line he thought he’d find between James’ eyebrows. It’s Bucky’s line, too.

Steve starts to move his hand down but James catches it with his right, gripping it gently and moving it to press his lips lightly to Steve’s skin. A shiver runs down his spine, wings shifting slightly, closer, _towards James_ -

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quietly, and James freezes, pulling his lips back from where they’d been resting against Steve’s fingers. “I worried you.”

James doesn’t move for a moment and Steve can feel him staring at him, but then James is leaning forward, pressing his forehead to Steve’s while white comes around to block out the blurred view in his periphery, feathers brushing his shoulders and wings in a cocoon. Steve’s twitch a little, but settle quickly. James doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head slightly against Steve’s, and Steve presses his lips together a little, angling his face up after a moment to brush his lips against the corner of James’ mouth. James grips his fingers a little tighter, wings surrounding them a little closer, but they stay like that for a minute, just breathing. Steve’s eyes slip closed.

The same training room door opens again a moment later, much quieter than when James did it, and James half whirls around, wings shifting and coming up, blocking Steve’s view. Whoever it is’ footsteps stop, but Steve thinks he might recognize them.

“He’s been drugged,” James says quietly after a moment, tension in his voice, “Bucky sent me.”

Steve sits up a little straighter at that, trying to peer between James’ neck and raised wing even though it’s probably useless to. He catches a flash of red, but the wing shifts again and it’s gone in almost an instant, covered up by white.

There’s the sound of the quiet _click_ of a gun, and then quiet footsteps coming closer. “Steve,” a familiar voice says, “Are you alright.”

“Natasha…?” Steve asks after a moment, brows furrowing a little with the effort.

Natasha lets out a quiet breath. He can hear her wings shift, just a little. “Definitely drugged,” she says quietly, raising her voice as she continues, “Do you know what you were given?”

“Um…” Steve trails off as he catches movement in front of him, James shaking his head. “It was...from his water bottle,” he says, raising his left wing a little in the direction of where he _thinks_ it might still be.

He hears Natasha walk in the direction quickly, picking it up before turning back towards them. “We need to go,” she says, tone serious, “Hydra’s in S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s not safe here.”

Steve and James both stiffen, and James rises swiftly, turning back around and crouching again to grip Steve’s shoulder gently, metal only a little cool through his shirt. Steve tries to stand up, but his head spins and he quickly sits back down, letting out a breath. “Whatever was in that…” Steve says quietly, pressing a hand to his forehead, “It’s...really strong,” he manages.

There’s a silent moment and then a warm hand on his right arm and a hard arm going around his waist, pulling him up gentle but swift and into James’ warm left side, right wing coming around the back of Steve’s and pressing into his own. It feels familiar, but not the same, never the same again. “Where are we going?” Steve asks quietly as they start to move, head spinning, only stumbling every so often as James helps keep him up.

“New York,” Natasha replies, and Steve groans.

“ _Great_ ,” he mumbles back.

James pulls him in a little closer and Steve goes willingly.


	19. I was alone but I'm ready to feel, I want to show you my feelings are real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the music that Steve's listening to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_pg-DKBeZ0 (this link should wORK now).
> 
> Also, warnings for minor self harm and discussion of sexual assault ish. Again, if this will bother you just let me know and I'll point out around where each thing starts so you can skip it.

Natasha hands her phone along with the water bottle to James in the backseat, and James scans the liquid inside without her having to tell him to while she drives. She keeps an eye on him in the mirror where he’s sitting next to Steve, left arm still curled tightly around his waist and Steve practically slouched into his side, eyes most of the way closed. James glances up at her in the mirror when he hands the phone back and she reaches back for it with a hand, nodding once at him sharply in the reflection after scanning over the results for herself and dropping her eyes back to the road, slipping the phone back into her pocket.

“He can sleep it off, then,” she says as she shifts lanes, “They didn’t intend to kill him.”

“No,” James says lowly after a moment, left wing curving more protectively around Steve, “Just make him suffer.”

She glances at him in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you mean both of you?”

His eyes dart to hers again in the reflection, narrowing a bit. His wing tightens around Steve a little more and Steve’s unfocused eyes finally slip the rest of the way closed, body gradually going loose against James’.

“I warned you not to,” she says softly after another moment when she sees Steve’s breathing even out.

James stares at her for a bit more before his eyes drop to Steve, right hand coming up a little hesitantly to brush some of his blonde bangs aside where they’re resting across his forehead. “He _wanted me_ ,” he says, soft and full of _wonder_.

She’s never heard that in his voice before.

She stares at him for a another moment before shifting her eyes back to the road, flicking on the blinker.

\--

Steve sleeps most of the way to New York, only stirring once three-fourths of the way there but quickly falling back to sleep after he shifts into a more comfortable position against James, who doesn’t sleep at all, eyes on Steve, her, the road, their surroundings, staying alert the whole time. She thinks the only thing keeping most of the tension out of his body that he usually carries is the fact that Steve is sleeping on him and he doesn’t want to wake him.

Bucky doesn’t make an appearance, and she’s not sure of the state he was in when James took over, but the stab wound in James’ right hand that’s stopped bleeding and has left dried blood on his skin, pants, shirt, Steve, and the car gives her an idea.

When they finally get there, Natasha loops the car around Avengers Tower on three different routes to make sure that they’re not being followed before finally driving down to the parking garage once both her and James are satisfied, James’ eyes darting around and out the windows, taking everything in. She scans them in with her Avengers I.D. and the garage door slides open long enough for them to pull inside, closing again as soon as they’re cleared of the threshold.

The car’s parked in the best available spot that she can find, one that has the easiest access in and out should anything happen and they need to bolt.

She cuts the engine, opens the door, and slips out, waiting for James and Steve to follow.

She doesn’t open the back door or help when James finally does get it open. She doesn’t mention his bare feet on the cool cement floor or step in close to offer help to Steve when he stumbles out of the car, eyes barely open and wings sagged low at his back and feathers dragging along the ground. She waits until the car door is shut and then leads the way towards the elevators, keeps her senses attuned to them, to their surroundings, to _James_. He’s been well behaved, mostly around Steve, but that doesn’t mean that she trusts him to stay that way.

The elevator ride up is tense, JARVIS’ greeting the only break when the doors slip closed and they start moving up. James tenses briefly, wings jetting out a bit at the, “ _Hello, Agent Romanoff and Guest. Captain Rogers’ levels are stabilizing_ ,” before forcing himself to relax again when Steve makes an unintelligible sound, wings drawing in tight and the left wrapping more securely around Steve. He’s kept his left arm around Steve’s waist the whole time, and Steve’s head has dropped to rest the side of it against James’ shoulder, uncaring or unable to process any discomfort caused by the metal his cheek is pressing against.

The doors slide open just after they come to a stop and Natasha prepares herself for whatever might happen next (given their host) as she leads the way out, feeling the prickle of James’ eyes on the back of her neck every so often as she barely hears him follow. He’d be silent if it weren’t for Steve.

She senses him before he steps out, eyes darting up gold, red, and dark brown wings to find Tony holding a tumbler in one hand, wearing a band tshirt loudly broadcasting ‘AC/DC BACK IN BLACK’ and dark jeans, his other hand loose at his side. Sometimes, he’s smarter than she gives him credit for, stealthier too.

Sometimes.

His eyebrows rise. “Well, look who the cat dragged in. Or should I say snakes,” he says, eyes quickly sliding past her and to her two companions, brows rising up even further near his hairline. “I heard S.H.I.E.L.D. had an infestation problem,” he continues before she can say anything, though she knows he wasn’t expecting her to, “JARVIS said something about a heavy sedation compound. I’d have him running specs, but I’m pretty sure you’ve done that already,” he adds, “And please don’t tell me the other guy is who I think he looks like.”

Natasha’s lips purse and she hears James’ breathing slow a little behind her, can already hear his arm’s plates shifting in preparation for battle.

“He’s not,” she answers simply, trying to throw off any confrontation, “And Steve needs a safe place to sleep the drug off.”

Tony’s lips quirk up and he walks towards them, wisely giving Steve and James a wide berth when James’ feathers bristle as he heads for the elevator behind them. “Bossy,” he jokes back, taking a sip from his glass like he’s unbothered. She knows better. “Follow me.”

Natasha turns and does, James following after a moment’s indecision, left arm tightening around Steve’s waist fractionally as he mostly carries him inside.

The ride to the living quarters is even more tense, and she catches James’ eyes darting between the two of them in the elevator door reflection, expression mostly blank and eyes flat.

Tony spearheads their little group once the doors open to lead them out to a moderately decorated but sparse looking apartment. It’s comfortable without being obnoxious, decorated enough without being cluttered, but still clearly giving any occupant plenty of range to add or remove what they like. It lacks a personal touch, but that could be because the Avenger she’s assuming it belongs to hasn’t been in it before. She glances back towards Steve as she steps out to follow Tony, James trailing along behind.

“Bedrooms and their bathroom’s are down the hall, stocked with clothes,” Tony cuts through the silence, gesturing with a hand, “Kitchen’s behind the living room. And that’s New York.” He sweeps his free arm out grandiosely, looking back towards James with his lips pulled up on one side in a little smirk. “If you are who I think you are and who Ms. Romanoff says you’re not, you might recognize it.”

James stares at him for a moment before moving past him without a word, keeping them both in his sights as he heads for the nearest room. He’ll likely barricade himself and Steve inside, which is fine since JARVIS will be monitoring (it’s not like this is her first time in the building. She’s aware), except-

“Medical kit’s under the sink, each bathroom,” Stark calls out before she can mention it, and James pauses briefly before pushing into the nearest room, quickly closing the door behind himself and locking it with a quiet _click_.

She turns to Tony. He’s been looking at her since the door closed.

“So that’s his mysterious boyfriend,” Stark says, raising an eyebrow. For all intents and purposes, he’s composed, but she can tell by his eyes and from knowing him for any extended amount of time that his mind is going a mile a minute. She heads over to the couch and takes a seat, raising a brow of her own.

Tony rolls his eyes, saying, “JARVIS.”

Three screens pop up a few feet in front of her face and her eyes quickly scan over them.

_‘Captain America’s New Girlfriend?’_

_‘Captain America: Not As American As We All Thought’_

_‘Captain America Plays Children’s Game With Mystery Flyer?’_

“The second one was pulled, for obvious reasons,” Tony says as he walks over, pinching his fingers over the image before stretching them wide to blow up the picture of Steve on a date with Ian. He shrinks it with another pinch of his fingers and swipes a hand over it, effectively clearing it. “The first was easy enough to get over, but the second I had my PR department shutdown as soon as Pepper got wind of it.” Which means _Pepper_ is actually the one that shut it down. “And not just because he’s apparently dipping into both flavors without discretion,” Tony continues, eyes landing on her, “So. Care to tell me how someone who’s supposed to have been _dead_ for seventy years is suddenly in our Tower in the room next door?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Steve,” she shoots back, reclining back a little into the couch cushions. They’re comfortable, especially after the stiff leather of the car seat after hours of driving.

Tony rolls his eyes, all pretense of cool calm falling away like an avalanche and giving way to frenetic energy.

“Like he’s going to be able to give me answers any time soon,” he replies shortly, “I want to know.”

“It’s not for me to say,” she says.

“They’re in _my_ Tower,” he fires back.

“I thought you just said it was ‘ _our_ ’ Tower,” she returns.

He purses his lips for a moment before moving over and sitting on the coffee table in front of her, feathers trailing down to the floor over the back end of it and tumbler sat down next to his leg. “Tell me,” he says, staring straight at her. She stares back. “Or I’ll just find out myself.”

\--

The first thing he notices is that there’s something warm pressed all along his front and in his arms, and the old, familiar feel of hair in his mouth that isn’t his.

He blinks his eyes open and takes in the top of a blonde head close to his face and pulls his own head back a bit, shifting his mouth as the hair slides out, short and messy and damp. He may have drooled in Steve’s hair, but that’s fine, familiar, even, it’s-

He stiffens, the explosion coming back, Agent 13, _Hydra_ -

He clenches his right hand where it’s curved against Steve’s back to make sure, a dull pain throbbing up from his palm beneath what feels like gauze and he relaxes slightly, then stiffens again when Steve nuzzles into his neck, arms tightening around his waist and wing shifting where it’s blanketed under Bucky’s across both of their sides. It’s not bad a position, or even entirely unfamiliar, but-

Steve’s never nuzzled him before, not that he can remember, and he’s never wrapped his wings around Steve while they were sleeping like this.

If he could, he thinks he’d strangle James ( _he could take him. Probably_ ).

He tilts his head down to get a good look at Steve, shifting his hands over him in light, quick touches to make sure he’s uninjured before he carefully tries to untangle them as best as he can without waking him, slipping out of Steve’s hold and pulling his wings back before getting off of the bed. At least James managed to keep him safe where Bucky _couldn’t_ -

His eyes dart around. The room’s white, a large, dimmed window showing a highrise view of New York City, and it’s-

Where _are_ they?

He looks over Steve’s sleeping form, watches him burrow a little into the bedding and shift a wing up to cover most of himself before doing a one-eighty spin of the room, taking in all of the details and the size of it before coming to a stop facing the bedroom door, running a hand back through his loose hair and gripping it back into a ponytail as he thinks. Should he risk going out there? He shouldn’t leave Steve alone. He should-

“ _Good afternoon, Sergeant Barnes_.”

Bucky jumps, spinning around again as his eyes quickly scan the room and his wings shoot out, looking for the source of the voice. “ _Who’s there_ ,” he demands after finding nothing, keeping his voice down but firm so as not to wake Steve. They’re being watched. There’s cameras _somewhere_. It seems like it’s hard to avoid them in the future.

“ _My name is JARVIS, Sir_ ,” the voice replies, and Bucky’s eyes dart up to the ceiling. It seems like the voice is coming from somewhere around there. “ _I have notified Agent Romanoff of your waking and have been informed to tell you that you are in Avengers Tower in New York City, and that ‘Natasha Romanoff is waiting for you outside the bedroom door, so quit being a hermit, Barnes. Get out here and say hello’._ ”

Bucky’s brow furrows before he lets out a snort, tensing briefly when Steve grumbles something and letting out a quiet breath when he doesn’t wake up.

“And I’m supposed to just trust you?” he asks, voice quiet and eyes darting back up to the ceiling, “The man behind the curtain?”

“ _I am a highly programmed artificial intelligence created by Tony Stark_ ,” JARVIS replies, sounding almost prim, “ _Not the ruler of The Land of Oz. And I have my instructions_.”

Bucky freezes, wings shifting a little behind him. “Stark?” he asks.

“ _Yes, Sergeant Barnes_.”

He tenses again, half turning to glance towards the door as he says, “Just ‘Bucky’s fine,” a little hesitantly, brow furrowing again as he thinks.

It’s quiet for a minute before-

“ _Steve Rogers will be safe if left in this room_.” Bucky frowns up at the ceiling, mouth pinching. “ _This is his floor_.”

Bucky frowns a little more, eyes taking in the room again, the night stands on each side of the bed, the blank walls, what he can see of the undecorated but luxurious bathroom.

It’s not uncommon for Steve not to decorate, or it wasn’t. But Steve’s apartment now had personal touches. This one has none, not from him, not from anyone. And it’s a larger space than Bucky knows he’d be used to. He looks back up at the ceiling.

“This is Steve’s,” he says flatly.

“ _Yes, Bucky_ ,” JARVIS replies.

“It’s like Stark doesn’t know him at all,” Bucky mumbles.

JARVIS doesn’t say anything and then there’s a soft knock at the door. He spins back around, wings rising and body tensing as he holds himself still.

“ _Get out here, Barnes_ ,” he hears Natasha call through the door.

He doesn’t move for a moment, staring at it, darting a look at Steve over his shoulder before finally walking over on silent feet, turning the door knob excruciatingly slow to keep it quiet before pulling the door open just the slightest, standing behind it. He darts a feather across the space and only peaks through the crack when nothing comes flying (shooting) through or ramming into it.

Natasha’s standing on the other side of the door, red hair straight and immaculate where it brushes her shoulders and black bodysuit making her wings stand out starkly behind her, bright against the white of the hall’s walls. She stares at him for a moment before raising an unimpressed eyebrow and turning to walk away. He opens the door a little further after he hears her footsteps stop in what could be the next room, eyes darting back over to Steve briefly before he finally decides to open the door wider and slip out, closing it securely behind him.

He finds Natasha sitting on a long couch in the living room of the _largest apartment he’s ever seen_. It’s- His and Steve’s old place could almost fit in the bedroom _alone_. She pulls something out of a pocket and holds it out in offering, and he slowly walks over, taking the hair tie from her and pulling his hair back into a sloppy bun. It doesn’t make him relax, exactly, but it does settle him a little more, ground him more in the fact that he’s _himself_ right now.

“Avengers Tower,” he states after a moment. She looks up at him. “Steve’s floor.” It’s not hard to put the information together now that he’s not getting lost in the swirls of his own thoughts.

She inclines her head in confirmation and he lets his eyes dart around again, briefly, keeping aware of her position. They land back on her. “Stark’s not here. And Steve’s never been here before,” he states. Because Tony Stark isn’t, surprisingly, and Steve hasn’t. Even places Steve doesn’t leave materialistic things behind in still have some sense of _himself_ left behind. Things moved, objects off kilter, _something_. Some sign of him having been there.

Steve affects everything he touches, everywhere he goes, everyone he meets. It’s just the way it’s always been, for better or worse.

This place doesn’t hold any of that, save for the bed, now.

(He tries to force _that_ thought away).

“There hasn’t been occasion for him to come here, or stay,” she says after a moment, eyes dragging around the room, “And he’s chosen not to come here, otherwise.” Her eyes land back on him. He knows he’s a big part of the reason, _now_ , anyway. “And I thought it best that Stark not be here when either of you woke.”

She raises an eyebrow at him and they’re silent for a minute. He doesn’t have any comment to give on that and she’s not adding anything to it, either. But something niggles at him about her words.

“What happened to Steve?” he finally asks, wings twitching, finally letting the emotions bubble to the surface. He needs to _know_.

She purses her lips, just slightly, but it’s somehow enough to tell him that he’s not going to like what she has to say.

“Hydra infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D.,” she finally replies, and his wings tense at his back, fingers curling into fists at his sides, “Steve was drugged. But it’s nothing lethal, not the dose he had, and it wasn’t intended to be. He’ll sleep off the effects.” Her voices goes a little softer, briefly, and part of him finds comfort in the fact that she seems to care about Steve beyond the capacity of a co-worker, or him being _Captain America_. Because Steve’s always been _Steve_ , and _Captain America_ is only a part of that. And it’s the fact that she seems to understand that more than anything else that makes him trust her, at least right now.

“Agent 13?” he asks next, and she raises an eyebrow, lips tugging up just slightly.

“She’s fine,” she replies, leaning back a little against the couch, “She asked about you, too. She sounded worried.”

He bites his tongue and decides not to answer. Her tone sounds like the start of a complicated conversation with undertones and layers that’s he’s not skilled enough to navigate through. He got plenty of those kinds of conversations during the war, what with Steve being a USO show turned hero and the cameras trying to follow him and his “ _Howling Commandos_ ” around, but it was never Bucky’s strong suit because he never really had the patience for it. Too much bullshit to wade through. So he heads back for the bedroom after a silent moment instead, keeping his ears open for Natasha.

“He should wake in a few more hours,” she says once he’s halfway away, and he nods as he turns down the hall and slips back into the bedroom, only letting himself relax again once the door’s locked behind him and he’s sitting next to Steve’s left wing on the bed, watching Steve drool onto the pillow, asleep on his stomach. His lips twitch up and he reaches over to run his right hand through Steve’s hair, ruffling the now dried strands.

Steve’s safe, Agent 13’s safe, and James hasn’t done anything that Bucky completely wants to kill him for.

His lips tug down a little and he draws his hand back, resting it in his lap, eyes on Steve.

Not _yet_.

He carefully scoots to position his back against the bed frame, left wing stretching out along the length of it above Steve’s head and right sagging down to the floor at his side, letting Steve take up most of the bed.

\--

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does anyway, and his eyes snap open when something bumps into his left leg, eyes darting down to find Steve stirring, groaning as he brings a hand up to press against his forehead. Steve’s eyes snap open after a moment, a little dazed, but he shoots up onto his knees with a hand braced on the bed, eyes darting around, body and wings tense.

“Steve?” he asks.

Steve’s eyes dart to him, slowly focusing. Bucky moves when he’s pretty sure Steve’s not seeing double, reaching out a slow hand to rest it on his shoulder.

Steve flinches away before he can touch him and Bucky yanks his hand back, eyebrows furrowing. “Steve?”

“I-” Steve cuts himself off, working his jaw for a moment as he looks to the side. Bucky frowns.

“Something more than just ‘he was drugged’ happened, didn’t it,” Bucky says, because it’s obvious it did. He sits up straight.

Steve’s jaw clenches, a hand still pressed to his forehead and eyes still off to the side. He rolls out of the bed and Bucky watches him walk over to the bathroom. “I, um. I’m going to…” Steve trails off, not finishing his sentence before closing the door quietly behind him.

Bucky’s mouth pinches and he gets off of the bed to head for the bedroom door, out to the living room to look for Natasha. But she’s not on the couch anymore when he gets there, or any other part of the apartment when he looks, and finally, it’s JARVIS who ends up helping him.

“ _Agent Romanoff is talking with Mr. Stark_ ,” he cuts in, neutral as he seems to usually sound, “ _Is there something that you need?_ ”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, looking up at the ceiling, “I need a secure laptop.”

\--

Natasha comes back with a laptop that he takes with a, “Thanks,” before heading to one of the adjacent rooms to the living room. He hears her move after a moment, retreat back out the front door.

Bucky sits on the floor and opens the laptop (nicer than the one Steve bought) and finds the webcam app, switching it to video.

\--

His head’s starting to pound less than it did when he first woke up, at the rate it’s going it should be gone in a few minutes.

The longer he stares in the mirror the dirtier he feels, so Steve shucks his clothes off in a rush and heads straight for the shower, not bothering with messing with the temperature and quickly getting under the (freezing) stream.

He stands there for a couple of minutes, and at first, it’s enough. It feels like the grime and sweat and everything else are washing away, like he’s cleaner already, but then he feels feathers jammed into his that he doesn’t want and the backs of fingers brushing against his skin and he immediately grabs the soap and starts scrubbing.

He has to pee and he doesn’t want to touch himself, so he does it in the shower. He has to clean all of himself but he doesn’t want to touch himself, can’t get his hands to go below his waist, so he avoids it, scrubs everywhere else. He manages it for all of five minutes before he starts digging his nails into his skin as he scrubs, reaching everywhere before trying to go lower-

He feels the phantom sensation of fingers again, this time callused and _wrong_ and _not his_ and _not anyone he wants_ ( _a flash of ice blue eyes and he tries to force it away_ ) _touching the top of his cock_ -

He scratches his nails harder against his skin, biting his lower lip between his teeth hard and squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

But they snap open a moment later because he remembers Rumlow’s blurred smirk, a boot crushing down on his wing.

The pain helps to distract him from it. At least a little.

After a few minutes, he brings a wing forward and runs his hands over it, after his skin has gone red and bleeding and the scratches are very slowly starting to heal, making him want to claw at and open them up all over again.

He digs his fingers into his feathers instead and tugs roughly when he feels the sensation of feathers mashing against and into his that are _wrong_ , when he feels the dull, aching throb from where Rumlow’s boot-

But Rumlow is dead. He can’t touch Steve again and logically he _knows_ this, but-

Steve shudders and grits his teeth, biting into his lower lip again hard enough to bleed and scrubbing his fingers roughly through his feathers, making the pain in his wing sharper, trying to make the pain into one that’s _different_ -

Rumlow is dead. Even though he almost- He’s dead. James killed him. For Steve. Because of Steve. Steve heard his neck snap, his body drop. He’s dead. James-

James.

He squeezes his eyes shut and holds back a sound that tries to bubble its way up his throat, bringing his other wing forward to start to scrubbing at that one next

\--

Once he’s out of the shower, Steve dries himself off and wraps a towel around his waist, standing at the bathroom door and listening for a long moment before finally opening it a crack, peering into the room and making sure it’s empty before he opens the door enough to dart over to the dresser and grab a set of clothes, rushing back to the bathroom to get dressed, eyes on the bedroom door the whole way back until he shuts the bathroom door.

He doesn’t want Bucky to see him, the red nail marks on his skin and the blood drying in the cuts, his body.

He doesn’t want James to see him.

He doesn’t want anyone to see him.

\--

“ _What happened to Steve?_ ” Bucky asks from the screen, brow furrowed.

James still has the smell of something burning in his nose, shifts a wing and waves it back and forth a little to disperse it.

He listens to the shower shut off from another room and stays where he is in the kitchen for another moment, looking back to the laptop and closing it.

\--

Steve stands in the bedroom for a while after finally picking up his discarded clothes and dropping them in the hamper in the bathroom. He could barely look at them, but he saw the dried blood on his shirt and he should- He should see if James is alright. If he’s James right now. He should see if Bucky’s alright- But he doesn’t...he doesn’t want them to look at him, to look at him and _see_ -

He’s not sure what they’d see.

Nothing.

 _Everything_.

He tugs the left sleeve of his long sleeved shirt over his fingers, tries to cover most of his skin. It feels both like a blanket and a prison all at once, and he wants to tear at it like he tore at his skin. He wants to _tear at the skin underneath_.

He rubs his hands over his arms, digging his nails in for a bit before he forces himself to stop.

He’s about to take a step toward the door when he hears wings shift outside of it. It’s closed, has been, but _he still_ -

Steve shakes his head. It’s stupid. He shouldn’t be so jumpy. And nothing actually _happened_ with Rumlow. He didn’t get far enough to-

It takes him a moment to realize that no one’s coming in even though he knows someone’s outside the door. There’s no knock, no more shifting, just...silence. It almost drills like a giant screw into his mind, twisting slowly, more and more _and a little more **and**_ -

And he hears Rumlow’s voice in his head and he feels feathers smashed into his and a boot pressed hard into his right wing ( _healing now, sharper than it was, but he can still **feel it**_ -), fingers on his skin that _**he doesn’t want**_ -

He walks over and opens the door, tries not to open it too slow or too fast, and James is standing there. Steve keeps his eyes somewhere over his shoulder, can see his hair down loose around his shoulders, blurred where Steve’s not focusing his eyes, can see James standing still, not moving, his white wings somehow brighter than the walls.

Steve sees a flash of dark brown and drops his eyes to the floor, hand tightening a little jerkily on the doorknob.

James doesn’t say anything, and it makes Steve want to talk, want to spill everything but at the same time keep it all where it’s at in his head, because it’s _ridiculous_ , but he wants to spill it out, and at the same time doesn’t want James to _know_. Doesn’t even want to stand here, feeling eyes on his skin, on his wings, on his hair, because those eyes saw him when-

He doesn’t want to be seen.

His fingers twitch on the doorknob.

James doesn’t say anything.

Steve steels himself, takes a silent breath and forces himself to stand up straight and tall, shoulders squared, forces his eyes to shift and look into James’-

And he wants to crumple, because it’s too much, because James isn’t looking at him with any of the disgust he thought would be there, or even the possible indifference. And maybe it’s ridiculous to think it _would_ be there, but he can’t help it. What they have is new. Different. And what Rumlow _did_ \- Steve’s _never_ \- He’s never been _through_ something like that, or the very real possibility that he _could_. Not even when he was ninety-five pounds and so much lighter. He’d heard of it happening to women _and_ men, but- He’s never- And James is looking at him like-

“Steve,” he says, quiet, _soft_ , and Steve finally lets go of the doorknob, of the possibility of hiding and shutting James out, retreating, and wraps his arms tightly around himself, wings pulling in tight and just barely coming around his shoulders, almost a shield all on their own.

James’ eyes still look like his voice sounded, quiet, _soft_ , and-

“It’s _stupid_ , I _know_ it’s stupid,” Steve bursts out, pausing for a moment and voice lowering, eyes dropping somewhere around the floor, “He didn’t even- He only barely touched me and he’s not even capable of _doing it again_ , but-” he cuts himself off, takes a minute to try and slow down his racing thoughts.

And James waits, doesn’t move, doesn’t shift and distract him, doesn’t even try to touch him. The backs of Steve’s eyes sting.

“He...I can still feel his hands,” Steve says in a near whisper, after a minute of silence, arms tightening around himself and wings pulling in more, “I can still feel his feathers smashed into mine, his boot on the bones, his fingers on my face. I can hear his voice. See his smirk. It’s like everything’s _right **there**_ , in hyper detail, burned into my mind and _I_ _can’t make it stop_ -” He cuts himself off again, stops his hands where they’d started scratching at his arms through his shirt again. He shifts a little on his feet, tries to keep his hands from reaching lower, from scratching just below his stomach.

He wants to squirm. He tries not to.

“I don’t even- I have no right to complain. None. I know other people have had it worse, have _been through worse_ , and _it’s_ \- I don’t have the right to _act like this_ ,” Steve says fiercely, “But my mind...how my _body feels_ ; it won’t _stop_. I can’t _make it **stop**_ -” he chokes out, vision going blurry. “Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I just want it to stop,” he finishes in a whisper, wings trembling against his arms, his back.

“And he was right,” he continues after a moment, trying to swallow past his closing throat, “How could _anyone_ want me after that? Even if he didn’t _get_ that far, he _still_ -...Touched...me,” he swallows, “How could...how could _you_ want me after that? I can’t even stand to look at _myself_.” He pauses for a moment, blinking a few times to clear his vision, feeling the warmth of tears run down his cheeks. “He was right. I’m...I’m _dirty_ ,” he finishes in a near whisper in disgust, gritting his teeth and keeping his eyes on the ground, body trembling.

James doesn’t say anything, and Steve can’t bring himself to look up, doesn’t know what he’ll find on James’ face now and he doesn’t...he’s scared of what he might find there. And it surprises him when he hears, quiet, a minute later-

“I should not have killed him.”

Steve’s eyes widen and dart up, startled, hands gripping his sides tighter. “What?” he asks, voice croaking slightly.

“I should not…” James trails off, _his_ eyes now focused on the floor. Steve catches movement out of the bottom of his periphery, darts his eyes down briefly to see James’ hands curl tightly into fists. Steve looks back up and his wings twitch once against him, sharply, because James’ eyes are back on his, cold and hard and… _angry_.

“I should not have killed him,” James repeats stronger, wings looking almost painfully tensed at his back, “He was not mine to kill. It was your kill. I should not have-...He should not have died so quickly,” he says, voice lowering to something dark, matching his eyes. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s from fear or something else. Maybe both. “His pain should have been longer,” James finishes in an almost growl.

Steve swallows once, eyes still wide and James’ still focused on his, full of ice and anger and-

And…

“James,” Steve says quietly, “You...Have you…” he can’t finish his question.

James shakes his head slightly, hair swaying a little with the motion, and something in Steve unclenches in relief. “Not me,” James says quietly, eyes dropping to the side briefly before looking back up at Steve, “But I am not unfamiliar with seeing violation.”

Steve’s fingers spasm a little against his sides and he tightens his grip, makes them stop. “What do you mean?” he asks, just as quiet.

James’ hands unclench, slowly, like an exercise in steadying himself. It might be.

“The Red Room had many training techniques,” he says, voice almost soft, but also devoid of the emotions he’s slowly gotten more familiar with showing, “None that were implemented on me, or me on others, but not every project was designed the same as mine.” His eyes aren’t focused on Steve anymore, instead off just a little, somewhere over Steve’s shoulder. Steve loosens his grip around his sides a little.

“James,” he says quietly, and James shifts, just slightly, barely noticeable, and then his eyes are back on Steve’s.

Steve’s throat starts closing up again, because James is looking at him like-

“I would not find anyone dirty,” James says, emotion bleeding back into his voice, “I do not find _you_ dirty.” Steve has to blink a few new tears out of his eyes. “I am...angry,” he says after a moment, eyes lowering briefly like he’s trying to find the right words. He looks back up, “I am _angry_ ,” he repeats, stronger, fists clenching at his sides again, “Because he...hurt you. I do not want you hurt,” he finishes quieter, but with no less certainty. Steve bites the inside of his lower lip, eyes darting down to the floor.

He sees James shift after a moment and then pause, waiting, and Steve keeps still, doesn’t stop him when James takes that as permission and steps closer, stopping so there’s just an inch of space between them. Steve can feel his body heat this close, and it both makes him want to run and pull James closer. He bites his lip again, bites it hard enough to bleed when James’ wings come around, slowly, like Steve’s a frightened animal (and he might as _well_ be), just brushing Steve’s briefly before resting against them, so lightly it’s like they almost aren’t even there. It’s so gentle Steve wants to cry.

He blinks again, more warmth sliding down his cheeks, pooling at his chin before dropping to the floor with the rest.

A finger comes into his slightly blurred vision and he feels it rest on his wet chin, feels a thumb brush lightly at his lower lip and gently tug it out from between Steve’s teeth, gently wipe the blood away. The fingers disappear after and Steve looks up, eyes widening again when James licks Steve’s blood off of his thumb. Steve opens his mouth to protest-

“You’re not dirty,” James says before he can start, and Steve’s mouth clicks shut. “Anything from you will not make me any worse than I am,” he says like it’s that simple, like he’s-

“You’re not…” Steve finds himself saying, swallowing once and clearing his throat when it comes out froggy, “You’re not...worse. Or _dirty_. Or whatever you think you are. You’re...” he trails off, thinking. “You’re...like when the day is over and night comes out. Like when I fall asleep and when I _can’t_ sleep.” And maybe it’s foolish poetry, but he doesn’t know how else to say it. What James is to him.

James lets his hand drop back to his side, eyes a little wide. Steve runs his tongue over his lower lip, tasting drying blood, and sees James’ eyes drop to it briefly before looking back up. “I want to kiss you,” he says quietly, and Steve’s wings stiffen. He’s not sure when they even relaxed enough to.

“I don’t know if I-” Steve cuts himself off, curling his arms around himself a little tighter.

“Then I won’t,” James says, again like it’s simple, and Steve shifts a wing forward and up after a moment, a little jerkily, just enough to rub at his eyes with the top of its feathers, moving it back to his side after.

“You’re so-” Steve cuts himself off, eyes dropping to the floor for a moment before looking back up. His chest is warm, and he-...He doesn’t feel like squirming anymore, not quite like he did earlier.

James’ lips slowly curve up, not a quirk, but something soft, warm through the ice and hardness that he’s made of. And Steve never would have guessed that he’d be capable of looking at anything like that, let alone _him_. Not with how he was when Steve first met him, when he first became _James_.

Steve finds his own lips curving up a little back, couldn’t stop them from it if he tried.

James half turns towards the hall after a moment, holding out a hand towards him. “Come with me.”

Steve blinks, shifting slightly. “I-...Okay,” he decides on. It takes him a moment to uncurl an arm from around himself, but James waits, patiently, looking like he’d wait forever, and it’s that look that has Steve reaching forward more confidently, taking James’s hand and letting James lead him out of the room and down the hall, out into the living room.

James grabs the only remote off of the coffee table with his free hand before sitting down cross legged in front of the tv and Steve joins him, still holding his hand, only wincing a little when he bends. He feels the prickle of eyes on him but keeps his own straight ahead, watches the tv flicker on and then James scan through the multitude of channels.

It takes him a minute to find the music ones, but when he does he sets it to ‘Opera’, turning the volume up just a few notches short of painful before setting the remote down at his side and turning his head to look at Steve.

“Listen,” he says, just loud enough for Steve to hear over the music, “And see the colors.” Steve’s eyebrows pull together a little.

“The colors?” he asks, and James nods, once, keeping his eyes on Steve’s face.

The music changes.

Steve frowns a little but listens.

He listens to the opening flute, to the slow pace of it. He listens to the man start to sing, almost sad somehow, but...strong.

He listens to the orchestra flow in now and then, dramatic and brief, then the higher strings blending with the man’s voice and the tapering flute.

He listens to the man’s voice in sweeping tones, feels the strings in his bones and the voice fill his head, soft then strong, full of emotions that Steve can’t quite pin down, each dragging and shaking and flinging themselves against walls and drowning out into tapered notes before he can place them. And he’s not sure when his eyes closed, but he doesn’t see Rumlow’s smirk behind his eyelids, or the dark of his wings over him. He sees-

He sees reds and blacks, rich browns and soft oranges. He sees fire in the form of smooth, winding strands and staircases winding up, in the stars and in the black of night.

He feels the hand he’s holding slide away from his but never stop touching. He feels metal digits travel up his arm over the top of his shirt, up to his shoulder and down his side, slow and fast and moving with the rhythms of the music, of the voice, of the instruments and the images in his head.

When they reach his abdomen he tenses, but he doesn’t jerk away.

When they pause at the hem of his shirt, his breath stutters but doesn’t freeze in his chest.

When they hesitate, his wings twitch once.

And when they finally shift his shirt up a little and touch his marked up skin, he feels his breath catch. They smooth over the scratches and his breath comes out in a rush, body untensing enough to relax into it slightly, because they’re not Rumlow’s fingers, and they’re not rough, and they’re not thicker than they should be, blunt and brutal where James’ fingers are articulate and skilled.

They’re not the fingers he doesn’t want to touch him, but the ones that he _does_ , and Steve doesn’t feel James move closer, doesn’t feel his hand go any lower, doesn’t feel him try to lean in for his lips, just feels warm metal rest against his skin, fingers spreading out to try and cover as much of the damage Steve caused as they can. And if Steve opened his eyes, he knows he wouldn’t see lust in James’ eyes, but anger at a man that he made sure will never touch Steve again, and Steve lets out a breath, terrified and...he has no word for how that makes him feel, that someone would go so far for him who’s never fought in battle with him. Someone who isn’t Bucky, but also _is_. Someone who would go so far only because Steve was hurt, and that that was reason enough alone.

Steve’s mouth pinches, eyes stinging behind his eyelids again, and he feels the fingers tighten slightly against his skin, grounding him. He knows those fingers have done more damage than he can even begin to put words to, but to him, right now, James’ hands are safe, and he loses himself in the feel of metal and the sound of music, both painting a world of warm and cold colors behind his eyelids. And he can breathe.

\--

They stay like that for hours. Steve’s not sure how long, just that it’s early morning when he does finally turn around to look around the floor Tony’s made for him and a dimmed New York City has rays of light working on skimming across the lower parts of it that he can see.

James is still sitting next to him, closer now so that they touch shoulders to legs, metal fingers twined with Steve’s, hands resting half on his leg and half on James’, wings brushing. It feels better, now, doesn’t make Steve want to pull away even though part of him is still uncomfortable with...thinking about what happened with Rumlow. It doesn’t feel as bad as it did, at least not right now.

When the dimmed sunlight finally reaches just over the top of the back of the couch and Steve can see it on the wall above the tv, JARVIS speaks.

“ _Agent Romanoff is on her way down to your floor_.”

Steve’s wings twitch, brushing against James’, and he sits up a little straighter, stretching his wings back a little before looking over.

James is watching him, eyes half closed and looking more relaxed than Steve’s seen him in a while. Steve smiles a little and James smiles back. It’s still small, but it’s real all the same. That’ll probably change when Natasha shows up, so Steve memorizes the look on his face before giving his hand a gentle tug.

They both stand, a little stiffly, and Steve stretches his wings out wide with a full body stretch, and doesn’t have to worry about knocking anything over. James doesn’t let go when Steve’s arms go above his head and Steve catches his lips quirking up a bit more out of the corner of his eye when he looks, and he can’t help letting out a quiet laugh, lowering his arms down again.

There’s a knock at the door and Steve looks over at it briefly before turning his head back to James, who tilts his head slightly before slowly retracting his hand, nudging the edge of Steve’s wing briefly with his own before retreating to the kitchen, grabbing a laptop (Steve blinks) off of the kitchen counter before retreating to the bedroom Steve woke up in.

He comes out again as Steve heads for the door and meets him there as Steve gets it open, Natasha standing outside the apartment with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, lips quirked up.

“That sure took a while,” she teases.

Steve rolls his eyes a little but his lips lift, stepping aside to let her through.

She glances at James once before looking at the view of New York City, which means she’s actually watching him the closest. After he closes the door and turns around, he’s surprised to find her eyes focused on him with the same level of intensity she usually saves for James. He feels James tense next to him, but they both wait, Steve frozen in place and James coiled next to him, tension in the air.

“You’re doing better,” she says after a few moments, eyes gentling and voice edged in something a little softer than usual. Steve relaxes again, feels James do the same, if only a little.

“Yes,” he says, a little quiet, eyes on her, and leaves it at that. She still doesn’t look at James, or even shift, but Steve can see the understanding in her, that she _knows_.

“Tony wants to meet him,” she says after a moment, quirking another brow, and the moment is over. James goes loose at his side and Steve glances over, sees his expression blank and eyes on Natasha.

“What did you tell him?” Steve asks, looking back to her.

“That James Buchanan Barnes is alive,” she says, eyes shifting to James next, “And nothing more. He was already aware that he was alive.”

Steve’s wings give a jerk and he stands up straighter. “What? How?” Her eyes shift to him and his wings slump a little after a moment. “...Oh.” Their flying together. The tag.

She nods once, but it’s James who says, “I was careless.”

Steve’s eyes dart over to him where James’ staring at the floor, fists clenched at his sides again. Steve dips his right wing over into his periphery, drawing James’ eyes up to his. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says gently. James’ expression tightens a little.

“Actually, it was Steve’s fault,” Natasha says casually, drawing both of their eyes quickly back to her. She quirks another brow. “JARVIS.”

Three screens materialize into view in front of them and Steve sees James stiffen briefly out of the corner of his eye at the unexpectedness of it, but Steve’s focused on the screens, scanning over each article quickly, complete with pictures.

“They-” Steve cuts himself off, his own fists clenching. He lets out a breath, closing his eyes as he reaches up with a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment, dropping his hand back to his side and opening them again to look at Natasha.

She nods once, but doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask him to explain himself or ask him to clarify, there’s no need to.

He looks over at James, who’s looking over the articles, a hand reached out to run his fingers over the projections, fingers dipping through the lights that make up the front page news article.

It’s not that Steve’s all that surprised. He went on his date with Laura knowing that he might be spotted, even more so with Ian. But he thought they were being more careful with James being out. Now he owes Tony another one, and Ms. Potts, for keeping the articles under wraps. Though, even if the paparazzi hadn’t caught on...Rumlow did say Hydra had been keeping tabs on Steve, so it’s...it’s still his fault that James and Bucky were found either way.

“I’m sorry,” he says, eyes on James. James’ eyes snap to his, pulling his hand back to his side and wings giving a small twitch. He shakes his head slightly, taking a step closer.

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats back to Steve, with the closest he’s come so far to a playful smirk, different from Bucky’s somehow even though they share the same face.

Steve’s wings give their own twitch, eyes widening slightly before he smiles a little, trying to frown and failing. Natasha huffs something akin to a sigh and Steve ducks his head. He still blames himself, but...It’s hard not to smile when James looks so- Well.

Steve looks back up and James is smiling at him, still small, still real, and Steve smiles back for a moment before clearing his throat and returning his attention to Natasha. She’s already staring back, a bright wing giving the slightest twitch. Steve shifts slightly, standing up straighter. “Do you think we should tell Tony?” he asks, “Unless he knows already.”

Her eyes dart up to the ceiling briefly before focusing back on him, glancing over to James after a moment. “You two may be here for the foreseeable future,” she says, reaching a hand out to turn the three articles briefly before sweeping her hand and clearing them away, “It might be better if he meets James and Bucky now instead of when James pounces on him for coming in uninvited.” Steve sees James’ feathers bristle out of the corner of his eye and his lips curve up while Natasha smirks over at James. “I know you did it to Agent 13,” she says, and James’ stiffens.

“She was intruding,” James returns flatly.

“Bucky pounced on me,” she replies. Steve’s eyes dart back to her in surprise before James makes a quiet, surprised sound, and Steve looks back over at him.

“I’ll have to get him something as a thank you,” he replies, not quite as flat as before.

Natasha raises an unimpressed eyebrow and he crosses his arms, raising one right back. Steve ducks his head again as he smiles. It’s nice to see them not trying to out-glare one another for a change.

He clears his throat after a minute and their attention gradually shifts back to him.

“I’m assuming Tony’s in his workshop,” Steve says, looking to Natasha.

She shrugs noncommitally, but he’s pretty sure she knows where he is.

“JARVIS,” Steve says aloud.

“ _Yes, Steve?_ ”

“Can you ask Tony to come here?” he asks.

“ _Yes, Steve_.”

\--

It doesn’t take Tony long at all to reach their floor, but when he does arrive he _knocks_ , and when he walks in he’s got both hands in his jeans pockets and an uncaring expression on his face, lines smoothed out and eyes casually drifting between the three of them. They don’t know each other too well, but Steve’s pretty sure Tony’s far more curious than he’s letting on. That, and there’s a tension in the air that Tony is doing a terrible job of hiding.

“So, this is the legendary _James Buchanan Barnes_ ,” Tony drawls a bit, eyes on James.

“Yes,” James replies, surprising Steve a little. He _is_ James Buchanan Barnes, but he wasn’t expecting him to agree with that so quickly.

“The Winter Soldier,” Tony continues, eyeing him with suspicion a little more openly.

James doesn’t shift. “Yes.”

“Cap’s long lost, presumably also-an-icicle bff,” Tony says next, wings jittering this way and that a little bit. Steve tries to keep himself from saying anything.

“Yes,” James repeats, then, “No.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “It’s either yes _or_ no. Not both. It can’t be both.”

“Yes, it can,” Steve finally chips in. Tony’s eyes dart to him for a moment before narrowing on James.

“This isn’t some kind of Hulk situation is it,” Tony says after a full minute, eyes darting to Natasha briefly, of all people.

“You’re not too far off,” she says casually, a smirk playing at her lips.

Tony’s eyes narrow at her before glancing at Steve and then looking back to James, rocking on his heels once. “So. You’re not the original then.”

“Tony,” Steve says warningly, but Tony just shrugs, wings fluttering excitedly and eyes still on James.

“Yes. No,” James replies, and Steve could swear he hears a smirk somewhere in there.

He glances over. James’ lips are curved up just enough to be noticeable. He’s _enjoying_ this.

Steve tries to stop himself from smiling. It’ll only agitate Tony even more.

Tony’s wings twitch repeatedly at least seven times in a row, rocking on his heels again. He moves quick, hand flying out of his pocket towards Steve holding something Steve can’t figure out the exact shape of before there’s a blur of movement and James is suddenly standing in front of him, right hand gripped firmly around Tony’s wrist, halting his movement, and wings flaring out to block Steve from view.

Tony doesn’t move and Steve can just barely see part of Natasha’s leg and a wing around the edge of James’ right, both tensed and ready to move. He tries to look around James’ wing and it shifts to block him, just like he remembers it doing back in the training room after-...After.

“Well,” Tony says, voice sounding a little strained, like he’s trying to push (or pull) something, “It’s not hard to figure out which one _you_ are.”

“Tony,” Steve sighs, “If you knew what was going to happen then why’d you _do it anyway?_ ”

“Had to make sure,” Tony replies from somewhere just ahead of James’ wing, “For science, and all that.” Steve gives him a flat look, or would if he could see him.

“James,” Natasha says softly. James’ body stiffens and then jerks slightly. Steve hears an ‘oof’ from Tony but James doesn’t lower his wings. Steve waits, unsure if he should or not. It’s-

“ _Do not do that again_ ,” James says lowly. That shiver shoots straight up Steve’s spine again and his wings tremble briefly. He catches Natasha starting to angle herself more towards him and he forces them still, taking a silent, steadying breath before her eyes can find him.

“Or what?” Tony asks, provoking, “‘ _You’ll kill me_ ’?” He sounds like he’s smirking.

“No,” James replies after a moment, voice calm and quiet again, like a snake slithering through tall grass, getting ready to strike.

Steve holds his breath.

“You’ll wish I had.”

It’s as hard as ice, and Steve can only imagine the look Tony’s being leveled with right now.

The room’s silent for a moment before Steve reaches up, setting a hand on the juncture between James’ shoulder and neck, two of his fingers coming to rest on hard metal and the others on overwarm skin through his shirt. “James,” he says calmly, and some of the tension eases out of the muscles he can feel under his hand.

James’ wings lower after a moment and Steve can finally see Tony, who’s got something like a wrench in one hand and his wings flared out a bit.

Tony’s eyes dart between the two of them and the hand Steve still has on James’ shoulder. “So that’s how it is,” he says, lips pulling up in a smirk. Steve gives him a look before removing his hand from James’ shoulder. He doesn’t miss James swaying slightly to try and follow it for the briefest second.

They’re all quiet for a minute before Tony slips the wrench-like tool back into his pocket and claps his hands once, loud in the silence but dispelling some of the tension.

“Well,” he says to the room at large, “That was an experience. You guys are welcome to stay as long as you like, James Barnes One and Two. This is your floor after all,” he says the end towards Steve, grinning something a little smug and manic all rolled into one. He turns to head for the door. “Can’t wait to meet Barnes One,” he calls over his shoulder, and then he’s out the apartment and the door’s falling closed behind him.

Steve looks over to James and Natasha after a moment. James looks back while Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“Well. That could have gone worse?” Steve says, but it curls up at the end in a question.

Natasha almost rolls her eyes but settles for leaving the apartment instead, eyes trailing along James as she walks by, expression unreadable and eyes guarded. “Get some rest,” she says calmly before closing the door behind her. Steve glances over at James, who’s staring back.

The silence suddenly feels so _loud_.

They stare at each other for a long minute, Steve not sure what to say, something prickling slowly up his spine and the back of his neck. It’s James who breaks the silence.

“You should rest,” he says, quieter than he had been earlier.

Steve nods once, turning for the bedroom. He stops halfway there, wings twitching once at his back. He doesn’t- He doesn’t…

He turns back to find James standing where Steve left him, watching him.

“Do you...want to come with me?” Steve asks, a little quietly, wings shifting a little behind him.

James stands up a little straighter. “Do you want me to?” he asks, quiet still, always so quiet.

Steve nods once and James doesn’t ask him again, just walks over.

Steve turns and walks with him, letting James lead the way into the bedroom.

It’s a little awkward. Steve ends up scooting over to the far side because James hesitates at being closer to the windows, and James locks the bedroom door before crawling onto the bed, lowering himself to lay on top of the covers with Steve.

Steve shifts a little more to get settled, lying on his right side with the early morning sun at his back, and James shifts once, twice, curled up a little and facing Steve with the fingers of his right hand resting under the edge of his pillow, their bodies two commas close together in a sea of white. The room’s so empty. Steve wants to cover it in paint. Light blue, harshly lit paint.

He stares into James’ eyes.

James stares back.

They don’t say anything, just watch each other, until eventually Steve’s eyelids start to close, James’ body heat warming him from close by. He smells something like snow and pine and something a little more earthy that’s wholly Bucky, and it’s comforting, maybe more than it should be.

He feels gentle fingers in his hair and cracks his eyes open when they come to rest on his jaw, and for a brief moment he feels Rumlow’s fingers instead, sliding along his skin. His wings give a small jerk and James is quick to remove his fingers, but Steve reaches out a hand and grabs his before it can get too far, slowly drawing it back and resting the fingertips back on his skin, focusing on the blue of James’ eyes. Rumlow’s eyes were brown, and his fingers weren’t _James’_ fingers.

James stares back at him, a light line between his brows, but he holds himself still, and it’s only when Steve scoots forward a little hesitantly that he does, too, their breaths mingling in the gap between them. “He didn’t...kiss you, did he?” James asks after a moment, eyes going hard but fingers still soft where Steve’s still holding them to his jaw.

Steve shakes his head a little and James lets out a quiet breath, something that sounds softer than the motion of his chest would suggest.

“Can I kiss you, Steve?” he asks, almost a whisper, and Steve stares at him for a long minute, wings twitching once.

He knows James won’t press him if he doesn’t want to, knows he won’t pressure him or ask again tonight, won’t ask him again if Steve asked him not to. And now, Steve doesn’t think James would take it as an order, that’d he do it solely because he _cared_. James _cares about him_ , and that hits him harder than almost anything else he’s ever felt before, hits him somewhere that has no name, and the backs of his eyes sting again. He knew it before, in a way, but now it’s...It’s-

Steve nods once, just a little, and James moves.

It’s slow, and Steve has the brief thought that watching James like this is like watching water trickle down a wall of rocks. Lips press to his in the softest kiss and his eyes slip closed, leaning his head forward to press into it a little.

James doesn’t cover him with his wing, doesn’t move to take away the fingertips pressing to Steve’s jaw like he’s fragile, when he hasn’t felt fragile in _decades_ , and it’s- He’s too scared to say what it is.

James pulls back a little and Steve leaves his eyes closed, slowly opening them after a moment to find James’ eyes still closed, face still close, like he feels the slow calm that Steve does.

“James,” Steve whispers, and James’ eyes open, harder than Bucky’s, brighter, somehow, in color, but warmer now, softer. “James,” he whispers again, not really asking anything, not wanting anything, because this is more than enough.

James closes his eyes and Steve says his name again, watches his right shoulder tremble faintly. “Say it again,” James whispers.

“James,” Steve says, like it’s a fact, a statement, and James gives a small shudder.

“My name,” James says after a moment.

“Your name,” Steve agrees, and James opens his eyes, a little wet, looking back at Steve.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks after a moment, repeating James, heartbeat picked up a little in his chest.

James nods slightly, like Steve, and Steve leans in, meets him in the middle. And the kiss is still soft, but firmer now, like a statement.

James keeps his fingers on Steve’s jaw and Steve keeps his own wrapped around James’ hand. There’s strands of loose brown hair tickling the front of his face and there’s over warmed body heat meeting his.

Steve doesn’t think he’ll forget this moment, the quietness of it, the stillness and their heartbeats in his ears. And he’ll do anything to make sure that James never has to, either.


	20. I can see the flickers. Lift me up, lift me over it. Show me what you’re hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Okay. So. The reason this took so long fjdskl. I caught a cold, and it's still fogging me up, but I've been slowly but surely trying to work on this since last week (when I got sick blargh) and actually have some scenes typed out for later chapters because my brain refused to stay linear, and I started 21 last night. So! Still working on this, just. Slower. Blarghhh fdjksl. Also! Gina is super busy with classes and everything right now and said she's probably just going to get busier, so I'll just be looking these over by myself until she can beta again, if she wants to. So I'm sorry if there's like. Mistakes everywhere. I'm trying fjkdsfjdsl. Thanks for your patience guys.

He gets as far as two inches away before Steve’s body stiffens in his arms and his eyes crack open, blue immediately finding Bucky’s face. Bucky freezes, watching Steve’s eyes quickly focus as they open fully.

Steve stares at him for a long minute, eyes shifting just slightly in rapid flickers like Steve’s taking in all of his face, then he lets out a quiet breath and rolls away, taking the arms that had been wrapped around Bucky with him and rising from the bed, heading for the bathroom like he had the last time Bucky saw him, except this time he’s not nearly as tense. Still-

“How’d you know it was me?” Bucky asks, sitting up.

Steve pauses, turning back towards him. He quirks a brow, wings fluttering a little teasingly. “Well, for one, you look like a deer caught in headlights, Buck.”

Bucky leans back a little, indignant, wings flaring out a bit. “I do not.”

Steve smiles. “You do too,” he says, a little sing-song, turning back towards the bathroom.

Bucky pushes himself up off of the bed. All teasing aside, he’s still…“Hey, Steve?”

Steve pauses again, half turning to look at him.

Bucky shifts slightly, wings shifting a little with him. “What happened?”

Steve’s body and wings go tense and he turns his head a little away, eyes dropping somewhere around the floor. It sends sirens off in Bucky’s head.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Steve says quietly after a moment, stepping into the bathroom.

“Steve-” Bucky tries.

“Not right now, Buck,” Steve says, quiet but firm and closing the bathroom door resolutely behind him.

Bucky shifts again, standing there for a moment and staring at the bathroom door. He listens to the faucet run for a minute before exiting the bedroom and heading for the kitchen.

He frowns when he gets the laptop open where he’d left it on the counter and finds no reply from James. Not even a note. His stomach twists into knots.

He stands in the kitchen for a full minute, listening to the shower start up in the bedroom before heading off to try and find a shower of his own since the place looks like it could hold at least three, mentally going over what he knows.

\--

Steve’s starting on coffee when Bucky finally emerges, dressed in gray sweats and a black shirt, wet hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Want some?” Steve asks, glancing over to him.

Bucky’s still got a worried line between his brow, but he nods, thankfully leaving his earlier question behind his teeth. “Yeah.”

“ _Sirs_ ,” JARVIS says. Steve catches Bucky looking up at the ceiling out of the corner of his eye while he scoops the coffee beans in and tries to hold in a smile. Steve’s encountered JARVIS a few times now, but the first time is...definitely an interesting experience. “ _Mr. Stark has requested your presence in his workshop once you have finished your coffee_.”

Steve holds in a sigh, turning the coffee machine on and heading for the fridge, trying to put the upcoming discussion off as long as possible. “Alright,” he says to the room at large, “Thanks, JARVIS.” He pulls the fridge door open curiously and is surprised to find it’s fully stocked. Either Tony did it while they were sleeping, or he’s been _expecting_ Steve to show up. Either option seems too likely, and he’s not sure he’s comfortable with being _expected_ to live here.

He lets the door fall closed, and when he turns around he finds Bucky leaning against the counter, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “So,” he says, and Steve’s stomach twists, “ _Your floor_.”

Steve lets out a quiet breath, looking around the room. He leans back against the counter next to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen from Bucky while they wait for the coffee, the aroma slowly filling the air, richer than the stuff Steve buys.

“Yeah,” Steve says, “Tony told me about it briefly, after the invasion, but I already had my place in DC. This is the first time I’ve been here.”

Bucky snorts. “You’re handling it well.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck with a hand. “Yeah, well. You know.”

Bucky nods once, glancing at the floor before looking around the room.

He _does_ know. It’s a lot like war; you use what you can find and adapt as quickly as possible, and shove everything else aside to deal with later.

“I kind of miss my apartment though,” Steve says after a silent moment. Bucky’s eyes drop somewhere around the counter and he leans a little too casually for Steve to not find it suspicious. “Buck,” he says, and Bucky shifts a little more like he’s been caught, wings and all. “What happened to my apartment?”

Bucky shifts again, glancing at him briefly. “Oh, nothing,” he says, too casually, quiet for a moment before he continues, “Just...got a hole blown in the wall and in the landing,” he half mumbles, eyes back on the counter, rubbing the surface a little with a finger.

“ _What?_ ” Steve asks, wings shooting out, one running into the counter. He doesn’t notice it. He quickly pushes himself away from the counter and hurries over, hands coming up to check Bucky over. He should have checked _earlier_ -

“ _Are you okay?_ ” he asks urgently. He’s not sure James would tell him if something was wrong, and Steve was _so wrapped up in his own damn head_ \- He didn’t even _think_ to-

Bucky snorts a short laugh, grabbing Steve’s wrists gently but firm to stop his hands. He smirks a bit, but Steve can see his expression is a little frayed at the edges.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just got blown into Agent 13’s apartment and went deaf for five seconds,” he says, “Then stabbed in the hand,” he adds in a near inaudible mutter, eyes dropping to it as he lets go of Steve’s wrists.

Steve pauses, brow furrowing. “How did you end up in Agent 13’s apartment?” he asks, “And what do you mean _stabbed?_ Who-” He follows Bucky’s eyes and reaches for his bandaged hand to check it, but Bucky jerks it away then freezes. Steve would’ve been able to tell even if his hands _weren’t_ still on him. “Buck?” he asks after a moment when Bucky hasn’t said anything, panic in his chest and worst case scenarios still flying through his head.

Bucky stands up straighter and Steve lets his hands drop back to his sides, Bucky’s eyes serious when they meet his. “I was asking her to take me into custody,” he says resolutely.

Steve’s wings flare out in surprise, standing up straighter as well. “What?” he asks a little numbly.

Bucky shifts briefly, eyes darting to the counter again before looking back, squaring his jaw while his eyes go determined. “I was going to turn me and James in,” he says, “You shouldn’t be around either of us. It’s not _safe_ , like I’ve _been saying_. They came _after_ him, _us_ , and something _happened_ to you that you can’t even _tell **me**_ about.”

Steve’s wings jerk and Bucky’s eyes track the movement briefly before going back to Steve’s face. “And _now_ you’re- I don’t know _what_ you two are doing, but you shouldn’t, Steve, you shouldn’t… get _involved_ with him. Me. _Either of us_. You just _shouldn’t_ ,” he finishes firmly, eyes darting between Steve’s a little wildly.

Steve stares at him for a minute, eyes a little wide and wings flared out, panic rising in his chest for a different reason. He can’t handle the thought of Bucky being.. _.gone_. Of _James_. Of being _alone again_ -

Memories of Rumlow come floating back to the surface and he’s vaguely aware of his wings trembling, right jerking slightly at the feel of a nonexistent boot _stamping down_ on it. His fists clench, and he snaps a little too harshly with it, “James isn’t going to _hurt me, Bucky_.”

Bucky’s wings tense further, expression closing off a little in a way that Steve doesn’t like. He barely registers the click of the coffee machine as it finishes, but his mind’s gone a little numb and he can only focus on that fact. That James _won’t_. That Steve needs them _both **here**_. It’s that or let memories of Rumlow drown him all over again.

“He said you sent him,” Steve manages to get out, and Bucky’s wings flare a little, but he stands his ground. Steve’s teeth grit briefly, letting it ground him. He needs Bucky _to understand_. “And he _protected_ me, Buck, just like you thought he would. He _helped_ me. He’s _still_ helping me. And he- Buck, you don’t...I know you think he’s some sort of _Boogeyman_ , but he’s _not_. I know he’s done things, but Bucky, that wasn’t _ **his** fault_.” Bucky snorts derisively and Steve’s fists clench tighter, wings stiffening at his back.

“Right,” Bucky says a little flatly, “It wasn’t his fault he’s got _blood_ all over his damn hands, all over _both_ our hands. It wasn’t his fault he almost _killed you. **More than once**_ **.** And no I’m _not **letting that go**_ ,” he cuts Steve off when Steve opens his mouth. Steve closes it. “It wasn’t his fault he- Steve,” Bucky cuts himself off now, taking a deep breath and trying to steady his picked up breathing, “I don’t know it all, but the things I’ve seen in my _head?_ Sure, _right now_ he could be a good guy,” he acknowledges, and Steve’s wings stiffen a little more, want to jerk out but he keeps them still, “But what about _later?_ ” Bucky asks almost desperately. Steve frowns. “What happens if he gets into a combat situation? What happens if _Hydra_ gets a hold of him again? What happens if _you_ get taken by Hydra? If he cares about you as much as you think - as much as _I_ do - do you think he’s going to care in the _slightest_ what happens to anyone who gets in his way?” Steve flinches a little at that and Bucky’s jaw tightens, because he knows he’s right. “Do you think he’s _capable_ of caring about others like a _normal person?_ Because he’s _not_ a normal person. _ **We share a fucking body, Steve!**_ ” he bursts out, wings snapping out, one back and one to the left.

Steve doesn’t flinch this time, just stares right back into Bucky’s wild eyes, sees Bucky’s wings flared out in his periphery, spanning wide across the kitchen. But he doesn’t look, keeps his eyes on Bucky’s because it’s all he’s capable of focusing on right now, heart pounding in his ears.

“And I ‘ _think he’s the Boogeyman_ ’ because he _ **is** the fucking Boogeyman_ ,” Bucky continues, breathing picking up again, “He’s _not **me** , Steve!_ Maybe the parts of me that care about you are in there somewhere, maybe in any _version_ of me there will _always_ be a large part that _cares about you_ , but he is _**not me**. He_ is the assassin they _turned **me into!**_” Bucky pauses, face screwing up briefly at the wording, but his stretched out wing gives a jerk and he keeps going, “ _He_ is the _weapon I **became**_. We might share a body, Steve, but he is _**not. A. Man.**_ He’s their _ **attack dog**_ , and you can’t just _get away_ from that! Even if things seem like they’re fine right _now_ , that doesn’t change what he _is!_ What _I_ am! _**You cannot trust us to stay docile like nothing happened! Especially him!**_” he finishes, breathing hard with it and fists clenched tight at his sides.

Steve grits his teeth, finally letting his own wings snap out in a jerky motion, his own fists clenched.

“He’s _not_ an _attack dog_. _**You’re** not an attack dog, Bucky!_ ” he yells back.

Bucky opens his mouth to object but Steve keeps going before he can.

“You have both _been through hell!_ Extreme electro-shocks, torture, _abuse, **all kinds of it!**_ And I _know_ you’ve read your own file!” Steve continues. Bucky’s mouth snaps shut, eyes wide and nostrils flared. “ _ **All of that** happened for over **seventy years**. And even though you can’t **remember** much of it, **he remembers it all!** **Neither of you are**_ -”

“ _Sirs_ -” JARVIS interrupts.

“ ** _Not now!_** ” they both yell in unison, not taking their eyes off of one another.

“I know he doesn’t act like a regular person. I know he’s _not a regular person!_ ” Steve says, eyes a little wide, “But, Buck, _neither am **I**_ ,” he adds, quieter, eyes still focused on Bucky’s. Bucky’s jaw works briefly, but Steve still doesn’t give him the chance, voice picking back up. “And maybe, sometime soon, he’ll have to face Hydra again, _you’ll_ have to face Hydra again, but I don’t think he’ll just _fall into line like a ‘mindless attack dog’_. Because he’s _not_ one Buck, just like _you_ aren’t. He-” Steve cuts himself off, biting the inside of his lip. He drops his eyes to the floor.

Should he tell Bucky? _Can_ he tell Bucky?

It’s not- It’s not like Bucky’s unfamiliar with... _violation_ , James called it, either. Bucky’d heard things, in their old neighborhood, even if he doesn’t remember it. It’s not like it’s stopped in the last seventy years either. Just like war.

Steve looks back up, making a decision, and finds Bucky watching him, still tense and angry and frustrated, but with a wing angled up slightly and curiosity in his eyes, now, wanting to know.

“Buck, do you remember Ms. Lainee from the block over from ours?” Steve asks, quieter, pulling his wings back in.

Bucky’s brow furrows, wings jerking slightly at the sudden tone and subject change, but he slowly pulls his in, too, while his eyes go unfocused in thought. He focuses back on Steve after a moment. “The one who…? Her and that guy the police arrested down the street?” he asks, confused.

“Yeah,” Steve says, quieter still, glancing to the side for a moment. He clears his throat and looks back to Bucky, whose brow is still furrowed and eyes confused. “There was a guy, someone from the strike team I was working with, he, uh. He drugged me, and I couldn’t fight back. And, he, uh…” Steve trails off, eyes dropping as he swallows. He tries to push down the phantom sensations again, the fingers, the boot, the _feathers_. The slow but steady stream of _wrong_ tightening in his chest and slithering up his throat. He can’t get the rest out.

He hears Bucky’s wings snap out again and Steve’s own give an automatic jerk in response.

“Steve…” Bucky trails off quietly, voice a little blank, _afraid_. Steve can’t look at him. “Steve, did he…?”

Steve finally looks up and Bucky’s eyes are wide, _scared_ , shoulders tense and wings out. Steve opens his mouth to reply when there’s a sharp, quick knock on the front door quickly followed by the sound of the door _opening_ and they both whip their heads around to look.

Tony comes striding into the apartment with, "How _long does it take you_ to drink _coffee?_ " not pausing when he catches the both of them staring at him with their wings tensed, feathers flared, and gives a lazy grin like he’s _pleased_. “Oh, good. Am I interrupting?” Steve closes his mouth, corners pinching, and Tony smirks. “I _aaaam_ interrupting,” he draws out, “ _And_ it looks like Barnes One is here. _Perfect_.”

Steve sees Bucky shift out of the corner of his eye and glances over.

Bucky’s eyes are still intent on Steve and his mouth is pinched in an uneasy line. Steve gives him a look, asking him to wait until later, and Bucky hesitates a few moments before finally shifting his attention to Tony, pulling his wings back in and relenting, for now. “Stark, I presume?” Bucky asks.

Tony grins, wings fluttering a little. “That’d be me.”

Bucky stares at him for a long moment, taking in his flashy wings, his easy posture and swagger, the way he’s dressed. “You do realize,” he starts a little flatly, “That Steve would never stay here.” He crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow.

Tony laughs, maybe more than the words should warrant, wings fluttering again in delight before finally settling again at his back. “I do,” he agrees, “But now that his apartment’s got a hole in the wall and Hydra’s after _you_ ,” he points. Bucky tenses. “It’s the safest place for you two to be.”

Bucky’s wings stiffen and his hands curl into fists under his arms. Steve can relate. Tony Stark’s an infuriating man, especially when he’s right.

“Speaking of,” Tony says easily, ignoring their stares, “An ‘ _Agent 13_ ’ called earlier asking for you. I told her you’d call back around three,” he finishes with a lascivious smirk, a suggestive eyebrow raised.

Bucky’s wings give a jerk and Steve catches Bucky darting a look in his direction out of the corner of his eye, but Bucky’s focused back on Tony when Steve looks over.

“How _kind_ of you,” Bucky replies sarcastically, wings still tense at his back.

Tony smirks over at Steve, lips pulled up into something sarcastically approving. “I think I like this one better, Capsicle.”

Bucky tenses all over again.

Steve finally lets out his sigh.

\--

Steve heads off with Tony when the ‘conversation’ (smirks and jibes) trails off into a staring contest (baleful and cocky), saying something about, “ _Checking on S.H.I.E.L.D., Fury, and Clint. You should call Agent 13_ ,” with a small, stiff smile, trying to break the tension and leaving before Bucky can stop him.

Bucky watches the floor’s main door close firmly behind Steve, hands balling into fists while his wings shift restlessly.

He _needs_ to talk to Steve. Hell, he needs to talk to _James_. But he can’t do the first one because Steve’s made a temporary escape and he can’t do the _second one because_ -

Because he doesn’t _want_ to talk to James. _At all_.

He lets out a rush of breath and heads back towards the kitchen while he looks around. Where the fuck is the _phone_ in this place?

“ _Would you like to make a call to Agent 13, Bucky?_ ” the voice- _JARVIS_ asks from somewhere around the ceiling, and Bucky jumps, wings jerking with it.

“I. Uh. Yeah?” he manages to get out, eyes on the ceiling and heart pounding. He doesn’t think he’s _ever_ going to get used to that. The sooner they can leave this damn place, the better.

Except _James_ -

A screen manifests a foot in front of his face, starts dialing, and he jumps again, wings shooting out in surprise. “ _Geeze_ ,” he says, “ _Warn_ _a guy before you_ -”

The call picks up and Agent 13’s face flickers into view, cutting him off.

“ _Bucky_ ,” she says, a smile on her face.

She looks good, like the attack didn’t even happen, and given S.H.I.E.L.D.’s infiltration he’ll take that as a good sign.

He can’t help smiling at least a little back, even if his world’s been turned upside down, flipped sideways, and then slammed on its back.

“Hey, Agent,” he tries to joke, giving her a wink. It works well enough and she laughs softly, expression sobering after a moment.

“ _Are you alright?_ ” she asks, a concerned line between her brows. He blows out a breath.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he says, and almost believes it, “Yeah, I’m fine. Steve’s- Steve’s fine too, before you ask.” Or at least some bare _semblance_ of it. Bucky has the sneaking suspicion Steve is a house of cards right now, just like him, and damn his life that _James_ is the one helping Steve with it, which stings, and because that means Bucky can’t send the fucker _packing_ (even though that would mean _him included_ ).

Though, it could be worse. He supposes he should just be glad James has taken something of a _liking_ to Steve, if that’s what you could even _call_ whatever is going on between them now (and if it all turned out to be an elaborate _Hydra_ act, well, he wouldn’t be _shocked_ , even with the all of the interaction he’s had with James).

Agent 13 lets out a soft, relieved breath, smiling at him again. “ _You know, all that and you never asked me my name_ ,” she says next, lightly, and he can tell that she’s only half-teasing.

He snorts quietly, expression softening a little. “Don’t need to,” he says, and she frowns slightly, eyebrows pulling together a little in confusion. “I’ve literally got two people in my head,” he explains, gesturing to it briefly with his right hand, “Names are kind of moot at this point. As long as you can tell when I’m me, and as long as I can tell that you’re _you_ , I’m fine. I don’t need a name.”

Her expression softens a little, somehow a little relieved, and a small smile eases onto her lips. “ _I didn’t know you could be so **romantic**_ ,” she teases after a moment.

Bucky cocks a brow with a smirk, wings fluttering playfully behind him. “Oh, _yes_ you did,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

She laughs again, a little louder this time, wings fluttering with it. “ _Maybe_ ,” she concedes, a playful glint in her eye.

“So,” he says after a minute of them just smiling at each other, and her expression sobers again.

“ _So_ ,” she agrees, nodding, “ _Hydra has infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. We’re still scoping out the extent of the damage, but it’s pretty deep. We’re going to be rooting through it all for a while_.” His lips pull down and she nods again, looking down for a moment before eventually looking back up. “ _I remember what you said before the blast_ ,” she says, and his wings stiffen, “ _And I...I can’t say I understand, but I can imagine some of your reasons for it. But, for now at least, you should stay where you are. Avengers Tower is one of the most secure buildings in the world, probably even more than the Triskelion, even targeted. Hydra’s not likely going to be able to break into it_.”

His mouth pinches and he looks to the side, eyes catching on the laptop still on the counter. He frowns again, looking back.

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” he replies, and she lets out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh.

“ _There’s always a choice_ ,” she counters, and his lips twitch up, because she’s _clearly_ been hanging out with Steve for too long. She turns her head a little to the side, looking at something out of frame before turning her attention back to him. “ _I have to go_ ,” she says, and he nods once, “ _I’ll call again, probably from a different number_.”

He smirks, wings shifting playfully. “Why, Agent 13, if I didn’t know better I’d say that sounded like you _wanted_ to call me,” he teases.

She smirks a little back, wings shifting. “ _I think I just might_ ,” she challenges. His smirk slowly turns into a grin, warmth spiking in his chest

She smiles back, wings shifting after a moment and expression going serious. “ _Be careful_ ,” she says earnestly.

He smiles a little, softly. “You, too.”

She smiles again and then the call disconnects, screen dematerializing in less than half a second.

He turns back towards the laptop after a moment, staring at it for a minute before walking over and opening it back up.

\--

“So. That was him,” Tony says, stopping at his workbench and picking up something similar to a screwdriver.

“Yeah,” Steve says, letting his eyes wander around. It’s easier than having to focus on this conversation. He and Tony still don’t know each other that well, and Steve doesn’t really want to talk to Tony about Bucky, or James.

“So, you getting any threeway action?” Tony asks, smirking when Steve’s wings give a jerk.

“ _Mr. Stark_ ,” Steve warns.

Tony just grins, something a little harder in his eyes while he tosses the screwdriver-like instrument in the air a few times and catches it with a deft hand.

“‘Mr. Stark’ was dear old dad,” he says, some of the hardness in his eyes reflected in his voice, “I’m more, ‘ _Tony. You were due to that award ceremony three **hours** ago_ ’.” He’s clearly quoting someone, Steve’s not sure who, but it sounds like someone he’s close to.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve says seriously, and Tony’s wings stiffen at the tone in his voice, eyes more focused on him, because Steve _will_ keep it in mind.

“So,” Tony says after a long, tense moment, spinning around to take a seat on a nearby stool and shifting his wings, breaking the silence, “You’re free to stay as long as you need or want to. The floor’s entirely yours, will be fully stocked, especially with _those_ metabolisms,” he mutters the last, but Steve still hears it, “And the tv comes with over three hundred channels,” he adds jokingly.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “You know I’m going after Hydra,” he says.

“I do,” Tony acknowledges, fiddling with something on his work desk with the screwdriver he’s still holding while his wings jitter back and forth, all barely contained, frenetic energy, “But I also know you need a place to stabilize. And not just you,” he adds, sending Steve a quick look. Steve forces his wings to stay still. “This Tower is technically the Avengers’ base of operations, which means means you can use it like one, since, you know, you _are_ an Avenger.” It’s not quite a question, but almost.

Steve stares at him and Tony shifts, glancing up after a moment and holding it, wings going still at his back.

If Steve didn’t know better, he’d say that was almost Tony offering him a long term _home_. Or something like it.

He’s not sure how to feel about that.

But Tony _is_ right, he _does_ need a place to think, to plan, to relax or beat the stuffing out of some punching bags and get his feet back on the ground. Bucky and James need something like that, too, he thinks, somewhere Bucky can get his head wrapped around everything and James can- Steve’s not sure, but he’s pretty sure James needs it (or maybe not. Does The Winter Soldier ever actually _need_ anything? Even now?). Steve swallows.

“I noticed the fridge was fully stocked,” Steve says a little stiffly when it’s been quiet for too long, not quite answering Tony’s not-questions.

Tony’s wings shift, just enough, red and gold catching the lights. His eyes go back to whatever object he’s fiddling with, and Steve’s pretty sure it’s shaped different than what he was _just_ working on.

“I wasn’t expecting you to stay here,” Tony says a little defensively, “Just. I got word about the whole S.H.I.E.L.D.-Hydra fiasco and figured this would probably be _someone’s_ next stop.” He gestures vaguely with a hand and Steve frowns slightly, eyebrows pulling together. Tony glances over and rolls his eyes at him. “I’m not calling you _predictable_ , even though you coming here _was_ predictable and I’m amazed that Hydra managed to infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D. at all and yet somehow didn’t figure _that_ out,” he half mumbles on one breath, raising his voice again after, “It was just one of the most logical conclusions,” he finishes, a little too lightly.

Steve’s wings shuffle again, eyes dropping somewhere to the side as he thinks that over.

Tony’s not wrong. About any of it. Steve just-

Feeling like he’s expected to live in a _Tower_ in _New York_ when he still hasn’t- He’s still not used to this _time period_ , even after being in and fighting in it for _months_. And no matter what people seem to think, he’s not oblivious on why that is.

He only recently got a new alarm clock for his apartment about a week before his last fight with The Winter Soldier. With James. He’s somehow managed not to smash it, so far. Although Hydra kind of did that for him.

But it’s an _obligation_ at this point, like almost everything else, not something he can say he willingly did because he wanted to. He’s not _ready_ for-

He’s not ready.

Still. It doesn’t look like he has much of a choice now, he thinks bitterly.

“We’ll stay,” he finally settles on, or at least _hopes_ he, Bucky, and James can settle on it. He doesn’t think James will be adverse to staying, especially if it’s statistically one of the best places they could be, _Bucky_ on the other hand-

“Glad to hear it,” Tony breaks off his train of thought, eyes quickly dropping back to his small distraction when Steve looks over.

He doesn’t say anything else and Steve takes that as his cue to leave, and he’s at the door when he thinks to say, half turning back to look at him, “Thank you, Tony.”

Tony glances up, eyes dropping back to his project a moment later and shrugging his wings a little too casually. He’s a good actor, but Steve’s better.

Steve turns back around and leaves Tony to his own thoughts. He’s got plenty of his own that he needs to root through himself.

\--

Bucky’s staring down at the laptop in the kitchen when Steve gets back to the apartment and around the few wall partitions between it and the door, and he closes its lid and turns to face Steve.

Bucky stares at him for a long moment before finally asking, quiet, “Ms. Lainee?” James’ volume, but not James’ voice.

Steve swallows and nods once, glancing around before jerking his head towards the couch and heading over to it. He hears Bucky follow a moment after.

Steve takes a seat on the coffee table while Bucky takes a seat opposite it on the couch and a little to the left, eyes on Steve.

Steve swallows again and drops his eyes to the edge of the couch, and starts to talk.

It’s not a long story, but by the end of it Steve’s got his arms wrapped around himself again and the disgust that James had mostly been able to dispel last night is trying to crawl and clamor its way back up his throat. He hasn’t been able to look at Bucky the whole time. He’s not a coward, but for this, he is. He’s afraid of what he’ll see if he looks up at Bucky.

He still can’t, maybe even more now that he’s done talking. He just knows that Bucky’s been still in his periphery, quiet, breathing steady but measured like he’s trying to keep it that way. It’d picked up at a few of the key moments in Steve’s story, but had quickly gone back to that quiet, counted, one, two, three-

Steve keeps his eyes on the front edge of the couch, to the right of Bucky’s left leg.

They’re both quiet for a while, the silence tense, uncomfortable.

“He’s dead?” Bucky finally asks, voice quiet but flat, toneless. Steve can see his fists clenched on the couch cushions out of the corner of his eye.

He nods. “James snapped his neck,” he says, quiet too, “I heard his body drop.”

Bucky takes another measured breath, longer this time, and lets it out in a long, slightly rushed exhale. “Fucker deserved worse,” he says, voice low and tense but still not like James’. It’s always different, everything, even when Steve expects them to sound the same since they _are_ using the same body. But they don't.

He can’t help huffing something distantly like a laugh. “James basically said that too.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but Steve wants to.

“You still don’t trust him,” he states, still quiet. Bucky’s wings shift a little against the couch cushions out of the corners of his eyes, white feathers trailing down along the floor near his feet.

“Look,” Bucky says after a moment, voice a little stronger, “I’m _trying_ , Steve. But all I see in my head of what he’s done makes me- Makes me think of an _attack dog_ , even with how he’s changed. In what few memories I have we’re- _He’s-_ He’s vicious. Obedient, merciless, _remorseless_. I know you’ll probably hate me for saying it, but I can’t even fully trust that he _saved_ _you_ because it’s something he _wanted_ to do, and not because it’ll be _beneficial down the line_ to _Hydra_.”

Steve flinches and his wings jerk, and he sees Bucky start to lean closer in his periphery, but stops when Steve’s wings jerk again, resting back against the couch.

“It doesn’t feel like that, Bucky,” Steve says, quieter, eyes dropping to the ground and arms tightening around his middle, “You know my gut’s usually right, and it doesn’t _feel_ \- I’ve told you this before. It doesn’t feel like he’s trying to use me for some _end goal_. It feels like-...It feels like _he cares about me_. And about you,” he adds, softer.

Bucky sighs, shifting a little again in his periphery.

“But I still can’t _trust_ that, Steve, especially not with this,” he says, sounding like he’s actually sorry about it. Steve tries not to take the sting caused by the words personally. The fact that Bucky sounds legitimately sorry about it is something, at least. “With what Hydra did to our heads? My head. _Our_ head,” Bucky fumbles for a moment with the wording, “Even knowing the triggers and kill switches are out, the programming, who’s to say something wasn’t overlooked? Maybe he wouldn’t hurt you, _or_ me, intentionally,” he concedes, “But what if he couldn’t _stop_ himself from doing it later, for whatever reason, caused by Hydra? Hell, who’s to say he won’t just someday _snap_ from all the shit in his head, my head, _our_ head,” he fumbles again, “And decide to just end it all? You and me both.”

Steve stares down at the floor, thinking, absorbing Bucky’s words and going over them. It’s a few minutes before he speaks up, a few minutes of going over and over and _over scenarios_ until he’s spun himself out dry and made the past few minutes _pointless_ and-

“I can’t live like that,” Steve says, finally looking up.

Bucky looks back, eyes a little red and fists still clenched.

“I can’t live thinking that the worst is always going to happen,” Steve continues, uncoiling from where’d he gradually hunched in on himself, trying to push down the disgust that lurches in his gut.

It’s easier, having something else to focus on.

Bucky’s eyes dart to the side, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve slowly unwraps his, sitting up straighter on the coffee table.

“Bucky,” he says, gentle but firm. It takes a moment, but Bucky looks back, looking a bit like a child getting told something that they don’t like, but understanding that it needs to be said anyway, that he needs to hear it whether he likes it or not. “I’ve lived my whole life trying to be strong, trying to be brave, especially since I met you.” He smiles a little when Bucky frowns, Bucky’s wings giving a small twitch. Steve shifts his own, adjusting where the feathers are angled against the other side of the narrow coffee table and trailing down to the floor.

“If I lived my life like that, afraid of anything that could happen down the road, I never would have...I wouldn’t have kept trying to enlist, wouldn’t have ever met Erskine or Peggy or Howard or Phillips. Wouldn’t have rescued you,” he says the last softer. Bucky’s eyes dart away again, but quickly shift back when Steve reaches forward and rests a hand on his knee. Bucky tenses further for a moment before some of the tension slowly leaves his body.

“If I lived like that,” Steve continues, “I wouldn’t be who I am, who you make me want and _try_ to be, and none of all that would have happened,” he says, still quiet, “And even with all of the bad, we wouldn’t be here right now, sitting in this _grand building_ in the middle of _New York_ in the _future, **talking**_. If I lived like that, always fearing the worst, where would we be?”

Bucky stares at him with his face angled away for a long minute, blue-gray eyes focused intently on his.

He finally lets out a long, slow breath, most of the tension easing away with it. “Probably laying in ice water somewhere,” Bucky half-jokes quietly. Something in Steve’s chest twinges, he thinks it always will, but he smiles, making an agreeing sound.

“Well,” Steve says after a moment, “ _I’d_ be in the ice water somewhere. You’d probably be in a snow dune,” he jokes. And Steve’s surprised, but not as much as he thinks he should be. That’s the first time he’s really been able to talk about it, for both of them but especially _himself_ , let alone _make a joke about it_.

But, well, his life is what Clint would call ‘a hot mess’ again, and maybe that makes it easier, familiar even. He’s at his most normal when the world’s falling apart.

Bucky stares at him, wide eyed, and for a minute Steve thinks he’s made a huge mistake, gone too far, but then Bucky’s letting out a quiet laugh that grows and grows, and Steve finds himself joining in, both of them laughing long and deep and shaking with it, unable to stop.

They laugh for a bit, tears in their eyes and trailing down their faces with it, and when they both finally start to calm down, Bucky says while wiping at his eyes, “‘ _Capsicle_ ’. Stark was _right_.”

Steve makes an indignant noise, wiping at his own eyes. “ _Please_ don’t ever say that to his face.”

Bucky starts laughing again, slouching back against the couch with it.

Steve laughs too before getting up and finally moving over to join him, sitting on the same cushion. Their wings brush and he nudges Bucky’s with his, quickly taking note of the flecks of white dye falling off and filing it away for later. It’s not important right now, and he’s too wrung out to muster up his usual level of panic.

Bucky lets out another long breath, laughter finally dying down. “So you want to keep him around,” he says, after a minute of quiet.

Steve leans back against the couch, tilting his head back against the cushions to stare up at the ceiling. “I do,” he says quietly.

Bucky lets out a quiet sigh and Steve can feel him looking at him. He turns his head after a moment to look back.

“And you want to try this... _whatever_ , is going on between you two?” he asks next, and Steve feels his face warm a little and his wings twitch, but he tries to force both of those reactions away.

“I...I think I do, Buck,” Steve says, trying to get a read on Bucky’s face, “If _you’re_ okay with it. It’s...It’s not just his and my decision to make; it’s yours, too. Your body. I won’t do it if you don’t want to. And I won’t let him do it, either,” he adds, quieter.

Bucky looks across at the wall, eyes going a little unfocused and shifting slightly, slowly, like he’s carefully taking in the tv setup and the pre-stocked movies, but Steve’s pretty sure he’s not actually seeing any of it.

“I slept with Agent 13,” Bucky says quietly after a few minutes, seemingly out of nowhere.

Steve’s eyes go wide and his wings flare out, right running into Bucky’s and left spanning half of his side of the couch. “You did?” he asks, trying to keep down the urge to say-

Does Bucky even know her actual _name?_

Bucky nods once, eyes dropping to his lap. Steve barely manages to get his expression under control before Bucky looks back at him.

“It’s kind of too soon to really tell, but... I think I like her, Stevie,” he says quietly.

Steve looks back at him for a long moment, thinking. “Did you...talk to her? About James and me.”

Bucky shakes his head, looking back across the room before his eyes drop back to his lap again, brow furrowing. “I didn’t...I had the chance to, but all I could think about was the fact that James was getting _close_ to you, and that scared the _shit_ out of me. Still does.” He looks over and Steve can see it, the fear, the worry.

Steve swallows, wings twitching as he ducks his head a little, looking back up. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky huffs a breath, shaking his head. “I should’ve known,” he says, and Steve frowns a little in confusion. Bucky quirks something like a smirk back. “I should’ve _known_ you’d pick somethi- some _one_ difficult. Your first real love was Peggy Carter. Makes sense it’d all be an uphill battle from there.”

Steve shoves a wing against Bucky’s and Bucky laughs, letting the action move him. Bucky shoves his back and Steve can’t help his lips twitching up when Bucky gives him a small, crooked smile, even though his eyes are sad, and so many other things Steve can’t fully place.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, and he means it, just like the first time.

Bucky shakes his head again, running his hand over his pulled back hair as he looks across at the wall again.

They’re quiet for a while after that, and Steve just sits, enjoying Bucky’s company. It’s never been a hard thing to do.

Then-

“I guess it’s...I don’t know what I’m doing with ‘13, but I guess, you and him, it’s...fine. For now,” Bucky says a little haltingly. Steve looks over to him.

“You don’t have to, Buck,” he says, but Bucky shakes his head, letting out another breath. He looks back over.

“I can’t say it’s not weird,” he says, face scrunching up a little, “I mean, it’s still **_my body_**. How is that not weird for you? We grew up together.” Bucky makes a face.

Steve laughs a little but just shrugs, wings and all, looking across the room like Bucky had and letting his eyes trace over the outline of the entertainment system Tony must have had put in before Steve had even set foot in the place.

“I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully, thinking it over. “It’s just...I guess it’s like I told your therapist: James is James. You’re you. I don’t see you when I look at him, just like I don’t see him when I look at you. At least, not all the time.” He looks over to see Bucky frowning at him with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed again, and Steve huffs a breath, looking back across the room while trying to think of how to word it.

“It’s...I don’t know, sometimes you’ll both do a similar action, or look at something with the same sort of disgust, but...a lot of the time you’re just so... _different_ ,” he says, “In _a lot_ of ways. You’re still both your own... _people_ , even if you are technically the same person. Does that make sense?” he asks, looking back to Bucky.

Bucky frowns at him, looking somewhere past Steve’s shoulder for a moment while he thinks. “I...think so...” he trails off, finally looking back to Steve, “He’s...He doesn’t _act_ like me. He doesn’t even _move_ like me,” Bucky says, and Steve shifts, wings flaring again while his eyes widen.

“You’ve _talked_ to him?” he asks, and Bucky freezes, eyes darting down to his lap like he’s been caught, then shifting to look somewhere off to the side, away from Steve.

“I...May have used the laptop you gave me to communicate with him with text and video,” Bucky half mumbles in a rush after a minute, darting a glance over at Steve then up to his wings where they’ve spread out in surprise. Steve pulls them back in.

“That’s actually...That’s got to be weird,” he admits, and Bucky rolls his eyes like that’s an understatement, “But that’s also really smart, Buck.” Bucky cocks a small, crooked grin, expression sobering again after a moment.

“We worked out we can both be triggered,” he says, catching Steve off guard.

“What?” Steve asks, wings flaring out again.

“There’s a few things we’ve worked out between the two of us that can trigger either one of us, that’s why there’s-” Bucky cuts himself off, raising his right hand in indication.

Steve’s eyes widen and then he frowns, reaching forward and gently taking Bucky’s hand between his own, ignoring the small flinch from the contact. “You...You stabbed yourself to trigger James,” he pieces together, wings trembling a little, “To try and help me,” he says, quieter, the backs of his eyes stinging a little. “ _Buck, you didn’t_ -”

Bucky grabs one of his hands with the one Steve’s holding and Steve looks up to find Bucky staring at him, determined and pissed and just- Just _Bucky_ , and Steve’s missed that look since first waking up.

Sometimes, he thinks he’ll still wake up any moment and this will all be over, that it’ll all end up being a dream, a creation of his mind while he’s still stuck in the ice. That Bucky and James aren’t real.

Sometimes, he thinks he’ll wake up, trapped and frozen and-

“Don’t give me that ‘You didn’t have to do that, Buck’ line I know you’re gearing up for,” Bucky says sternly, cutting off his train of thought. Steve closes his mouth, wings pulling in. “I couldn’t just leave you alone knowing shit was happening, especially with Hydra. And I couldn’t-” Bucky cuts himself off, looking away. “I didn’t think I was capable enough to handle what could have been dozens of highly trained Hydra agents,” he says, quieter after a moment, “Not without a plan and a rifle. Not like _James_ can. I know I’ve got his training, but it’s all mostly muscle memory. James is-” He cuts himself off again with a growl, brow furrowing. Steve can tell he hates it, admitting to feeling…“James is better equipped to handle things like that,” he says, “I can’t...I’m _not_ \- I was fucking _useless_ , Steve, and you _needed me_ ,” he finally gets out.

Steve squeezes his hand gently and Bucky eventually looks back, frustration clear on his face.

“James _is you, Bucky_ ,” Steve says quietly, and Bucky’s eyes widen slightly, shaking his head a little. “Yes,” Steve says, stronger, squeezing his hand a little tighter but careful of his wound, “He’s not _you_ , but he _is_ , and he comes _from_ you. So you did help me, Buck. If _you_ showed up or _he_ did, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes _helped me_. Thank you,” he adds, quieter, “I didn’t...I should’ve said that sooner.”

Bucky stares at him for a full minute, wings trembling minutely at his back and eyes a little shinier before he forces himself to look away, blinking quickly and shaking his wings out against the back of the couch. He pulls his hand back, gently, out of Steve’s grip and stands. Steve stays where he is, watching him.

Bucky opens his mouth, looking down at the floor, but closes it soon after, shifting slightly. “I’m…” he trails off after a moment, finally darting a glance at Steve, “I’m going to go-...I need to-...I need some time to myself,” he finally settles on.

Steve nods once and Bucky turns to leave, but stops after a few steps, looking back to him.

“You be careful with him, Stevie,” he warns, and Steve slowly nods again.

Bucky finally goes, though Steve notices that he stops by the kitchen to grab the laptop and take it with him.

\--

“ _I don’t know how to say this_ ,” Bucky says quietly from the screen.

James’ eyes scan over his face, trying to get a read on him.

Bucky looks to the side, right hand running over his pulled back hair and gripping the ponytail at the back.

James runs his own hand back through his hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail at the back of his neck and trying to imagine what it must have felt like as Bucky.

Bucky eventually lets it go and looks back to the camera, and James lets his hair fall forward again.

“ _You and Steve can try...whatever it is you’re doing_ ,” he says haltingly, and James’s wings flare out in surprise. Bucky on the screen narrows his eyes for a moment like he knows, but doesn’t say anything about it.

“ _I told him about ‘13 and that we can both be triggered. He knows about why I have a stab wound in my hand now,_ ” Bucky continues, letting out a breath before he goes on, sitting up a little where he’s cross legged on the bed that James is currently mirroring him on, “ _He thanked me...for sending you_ ,” he says, quieter after a moment, eyes looking somewhere up at the ceiling now, “ _Said that even if I went myself, or sent you, that that was ‘ **James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes** **helping him** ’_.” James tenses and Bucky lets out another breath, resting an elbow on his knee and dropping his head into his hand, wings pulling in around his sides almost protectively. “ _What am I supposed to do with that?_ ” he asks, almost a whisper, but he doesn’t sound like he’s asking James, and James wouldn’t be able to give him an answer if he was.

Bucky lifts his head back up after a minute, just enough to stare into the camera, letting his hand drop into his lap.

His eyes are dark, the kind of dark James has seen his own only a few times.

And angry, defiant.

“ _I’m glad you saved him_ ,” Bucky starts quietly, “ _And killed that sick bastard. But I don’t know if you actually did it because you **care** , or because Hydra would **want** you to. I don’t know if you’d hurt him on purpose or not_.” James’ wings tense again. “ _I don’t know if at some point Hydra’s going to fuck us up and we’ll **both** end up hurting him_ ,” he continues, “ _Because it won’t just be **you** that’s doing it._ ”

Bucky lets out a quick, frustrated breath, sitting up a little. “ _But you seem to make him...happier, and stubborn bastard that he is said he can’t live his life worrying and afraid of what might happen later, and that he wants to try it. And I know he can’t live like that. I know that’s not him_ ,” he says, leaning his face closer to the camera, “ _So just know that if you do anything to him, my promise still stands, I **will** stop you. No matter what. Whether you’re in control of what you’re doing or not_ ,” he finishes, voice low and staring directly at James through the camera.

There’s silence for a long, tense moment, and James stares right back, wings trembling faintly behind him.

For the first time, he thinks what he might be feeling, caused by _Bucky_ , is _fear_. Because he-

He knows this isn’t an empty threat. Bucky would do anything for Steve, James can piece that together just from the limited knowledge he has of their relationship.

But he also knows this isn’t like the last threat. If James is intimate with Steve it becomes more... _personal_. And if something happens, he-

He doesn’t want to lose Steve. And Bucky will take him **_away_** from James if something happens, it’s not a question. And part of James is glad, glad to be able to fall back on that, even when the part of him that’s used to going into anything, getting _involved_ in anything as the last resort, the Soldier that’s sent in to get everything done in one shot or face punishment, is _confused_ by it. The rest of him is clenched in a vice.

So this is what it is like to have something to lose.

Bucky keeps talking.

\--

Steve is easy to find, after, after staring at Bucky’s paused image at the end of his video and watching the video itself two more times.

Steve’s sitting on the couch in the dark, staring at the black screen of the turned off tv like he’s not seeing it. James tries to make his steps a little louder as he gets closer, but Steve doesn’t react. He comes to a stop at Steve’s left, and Steve jumps when James brushes a long feather against his calf, head whipping around and up and wide eyes finding his.

“ _James_ ,” Steve says quietly on a rush of breath, and James takes a seat next to him, turning to face him and taking note of the way Steve shifts himself away just slightly. He doesn’t move to adjust to it.

They’re quiet for a minute, then Steve glances towards the bedroom where James came from before looking back to him. He cracks a slightly shaky smile. “Bucky went all mother hen and told you he’d ‘ _break your neck if you broke my heart_ ’ like I’m his only daughter, didn’t he.”

James studies him for a moment, and Steve’s slightly shaky smile starts to fall apart, eyes looking away while his wings start to shift a little restlessly against the back cushions of the couch.

“Something like that,” James settles on, voice sounding loud in the silence.

Steve’s eyes jump back up to him, shaky smile back on his face, like he’d rather do anything _but_ smile. Like the projects of The Red Room before they became dolls and puppets.

James hates it.

He reaches forward, slowly, slow enough for Steve to move away if he wants. When he doesn’t, James traces the pad of his index finger just lightly over the curve of a corner of Steve’s mouth, and the smile falters. James traces the other side and it falls completely.

“James,” Steve says, quiet, voice shaking. James pulls his hand back and stays still, just watching him. Steve’s expression finally cracks and he sucks in a loud breath, loud in the quiet, and James can hear his heartbeat pick up. “Did Bucky say…?” Steve trails off, breathing a little hard and eyes a little wet, but no tears are falling.

James spreads his left wing out in invitation and Steve scoots forward a little and turns to face him, one knee on the couch like James and side leaning against the back of the couch just short of touching. James brings his left wing forward while leaning his right side against the back of the couch to mirror Steve, blocking Steve from view of the tv but not touching, not touching him anywhere. The pain of it is surprising, sharp, similar to when he had a blade pulled out of his arm.

They sit like that for a while, long enough for Steve to get his breathing back under control and for his right wing to start stretching itself towards him, under his. His eyes trace along the cracks in the white, the dye starting to flake off and layer the couch, their clothes, the floor in specks of crusted white. James tracks the black finally freed from its cage and after a moment, Steve shifts, and James looks back to see Steve watching him, the side of his face pillowed on the back of the couch.

Steve brings his wing further forward and lifts his head enough to look at it, eyes shifting slightly as his gaze racks across its surface, white like drywall coming off of a house’s foundation. “You ‘like the black better’,” Steve quotes quietly, not looking at him. James looks from him to the wing again, eyes drawn to each speck and crack of black like a magnet. He looks back to Steve.

“I do,” he says, just as quiet. Steve’s eyes jump back to his, searching his face for a long moment.

“Why?” he asks, sitting up from the back of the couch, “It’s...it’s not a color. It’s _no_ color. It’s the _opposite_ of color,” Steve says, staring at his wing again in what might be disdain. “It’s...it’s not anything,” he says, almost a whisper, jaw clenching.

James is silent for a minute before asking, “And mine?”

Steve’s eyes dart to him again, eyebrows rising slightly.

“Yours is-” he cuts himself off, glancing over James’ wings, “Yours is... _every_ color. All of them, packed into each feather,” Steve answers, voice softer and...with something that might be _awe_ in it.

James glances over at where his wing is overlapping Steve’s, natural white against manufactured and specks of black that absorb what scarce lighting there is in the room. It’s-

“It’s beautiful,” James says softly. Steve’s wing stiffens and he looks back to see Steve’s eyes are wide and his expression is-

James huffs the closest thing he knows to a laugh. “Yours,” he clarifies, but Steve tenses further, jaw locking again. James looks back to their wings. “Nothing escapes your...color. It is all encompassing, like a dying star,” he says quietly, shifting his wing a little closer to Steve’s, just a hair’s breadth away from touching, eyes trailing from the black specks and over the mountains of fake white to his own, less sharp of a white than Steve’s dyed one, softer, even. His mouth twists a little. “Mine are not... _mine_ ,” he says after a few moments of thought, fingers clenching slightly into fists, “It is _Bucky_ who is full of lights and colors. I am...more like the black, swallowing everything like a black hole. ‘ _Barely controlled chaos_ ’,” he quotes one of his handlers, gritting his teeth while his eyes drop to the couch.

“Sun,” Steve corrects faintly after a moment, and James looks up, tilting his head just slightly in question.

Steve stares back, almost like he’s not seeing James as he says, “Like a black sun,” like it’s a revelation.

James’ eyebrows pull together. “I do not understand,” he says.

Steve gives himself a full body shake, wings bumping with it and pulling himself out of wherever he went inside his own head. “You’re-” Steve cuts himself off, his own brow furrowing a little as he thinks, eyes now on the scarce space of couch cushion left between them. “You’re like...the dark, but you’re not...darkness. Like a black sun, full of your own kinds of colors.” Steve looks up. “Does that make sense?”

James takes a minute to turn the words over and over in his mind, trying to suss them out. He shakes his head a little after another minute and Steve lets out a breath, smiling a little, something not cracked and ready to crumble like a thousand year old statue this time.

“Yeah, I don’t...I don’t really get it either,” Steve concedes, looking back up with a slightly self deprecating smile. James lips twitch up a little and Steve smiles a little more, less self deprecating and more warm.

Steve shifts his wing forward after a bit, enough to finally brush his outer feathers against James’ inner ones and a shudder darts its way up his spine at the sensation, at _touching_ , and he trembles, inside and out. No one’s touched him like this since...since before he knew who he was, somewhere between the tenth and twentieth wipe.

He catches more of the white dye flaking off with the friction of their feathers brushing and finds he likes the black better than the red of his memory. Natalia was fire, ready to burn him up, freezer burn.

But Steve is all consuming, like his wings, and James would gladly disappear into him.

Steve shifts forward a little after a moment, slow, and James waits, keeps himself still and lets Steve control the pace, lets him close the gap between them small increments at a time until their breath is mingling and their lips are centimeters away. Even then, James waits, and only lets himself sag slightly into Steve when their lips finally touch.

His eyes slip closed and Steve’s feathers brush against his, a burning warmth at each point of contact with Steve and in his chest. He feels a bit like Steve’s wings, the black released from its white prison.

\--

He manages to untangle himself from Steve this time without waking him and checks the laptop for a reply in the kitchen before tiptoeing out of the room and down the hall, out of the apartment and into the elevator. It’s weird enough knowing Steve and James probably...kissed. Waking up all tangled up together like they’re both part octopus just puts a weirder spin on one of the things _Bucky_ and Steve have done, taking something they used to do as _brothers_ and...putting a tint of something _else_ on top of it.

Almost literally.

He really can’t think about this anymore.

“ _Floor, Bucky?_ ” JARVIS asks.

Bucky shakes his wings out, eyes automatically darting up to the ceiling. “Uh...I didn’t think that far,” he admits, wings shuffling.

The elevator starts moving anyway, and when the doors slide open a few minutes later Bucky cautiously steps out, mentally going over the only reply James left him.

“' _I understand'_ ,” he’d said, not quite like he’s received an order, but like now he’s more _human_ -

“Oh,” he hears, and his head snaps up from where he’d been staring at the floor in thought as he walked.

Tony Stark is standing in what appears to be a kitchen attached to a large room with a few wall partitions and three tables (at _least_ ) in sight, surrounded on both sides by an 8 am New York City.

“Which one are you,” Stark demands, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. Bucky keeps his expression blank, an idea niggling at the back of his mind.

Tony’s wings shift a little after a few moments and Bucky tries to hold in a smirk.

Tony’s eyes narrow. “If you’re the assassin: I have nothing to say. If you’re the original make and model: you should let me take a look at your arm.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow just slightly in return, angling his face down a little and looking up at Tony in what he hopes is something mildly menacing. His loose bangs fall forward with it, curtaining the sides of his face. When Tony’s wings give a jerk and his body tenses, Bucky starts reconsidering his annoyance with the length.

“... _Right_ ,” Tony says uncertainly after a minute, grabbing a steaming coffee cup off of the counter and heading in the opposite direction of Bucky, keeping an eye on him over his shoulder until he’s out of sight.

As soon as Bucky hears elevator doors close, he bursts out laughing - maybe a little hysterically - bending at the waist with it and wings shaking.

“I didn’t know you had that kind of sense of humor,” he hears after a minute, and his head snaps up again, back straightening as red comes into view from around one of the partitions.

“Agent Romanoff,” Bucky greets, heading for the kitchen Stark just vacated not too long ago.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she says a little playfully with a raised brow, lips pulled up in her usual cat-like smile, the one that says she finds everyone amusing because they’re kind of being an idiot. He wonders if he should be worried that he can read her that well already, especially considering he knows she’s not all that easy to read. He shouldn't know her as well as he sometimes feels he does, and he wonders if that’s the _James_ part of him.

Bucky grunts, pulling open the fridge and scanning its contents. He didn’t actually get around to scoping out Steve’s, was more in the mood for _getting out of that apartment_. “Not a Sergeant anymore,” he says, pulling out a block of cheese, butter, and bread, turning around to set them next to the nearest stove (because _of course_ there’s more than one, _fuck_ this is _literally_ almost too rich for his blood) before rummaging around for a pan.

She makes a noncommittal sound and he catches her leaning against the end of the opposite counter out of the corner of his eye, watching him. He pulls a pan out and sets it on the stove with a quiet _clatter_.

“Grilled cheese?” he asks.

“Please,” she says with a small smile.

He quirks a brow, but smiles a little back. If it feels fake, well, he’s sure hers is too.

\--

Steve’s up when Bucky gets back to his floor, pouring a cup of coffee at the counter, wings a pristine white-

Bucky frowns.

Steve turns around after putting the coffee jar back and grabbing his cup of coffee. “Hey, Buck- Buck?” Bucky hears him ask, but he’s already in the bedroom and aiming for the bathroom, opening the cabinet under the sink and leaning down to squint inside.

“ _Bucky?_ ” Steve calls from the bedroom. Bucky snaps up and whips around, hand still on the cabinet as he turns his squinting on Steve.

“Who’s doing it,” he demands. Steve’s brow furrows, mug of coffee held between his hands.

“Who’s doing what?” Steve asks.

Bucky darts down to grab the can of dye and hold it up and out at Steve. “ _Who’s enabling you?_ ”

Steve blinks, lips twitching while he tries to keep a straight face, wings trembling faintly with the strain. “Buck,” he says, voice surprisingly level.

Bucky narrows his eyes and Steve huffs a laugh, shaking his head a little. “No one’s _enabling_ me-”

“Then why are you still dying them?” Bucky asks seriously, still holding out the can of dye.

Steve’s wings stiffen and his eyes dart towards the window on the other side of the bedroom, gripping his coffeecup a little tighter.

Bucky lowers the can but doesn’t move, watching Steve watch the city.

“It’s complicated, Buck,” Steve says quietly after a minute, still not looking at him, “I told you. After you-...It was hard. All I had left was the memories in my head and...this.” Steve raises his wings a little in indication before lowering them again, turning his head back towards Bucky but keeping his eyes on the floor. “And after I woke up, it was just...It was so... _big_ , Buck, _Captain America_. Larger than life. Larger than Steve Rogers,” he says, quieter, gripping his coffee mug tighter. Bucky has the vague thought that it’s going to crack, but he can’t focus on that past a background thought because he’s too focused on Steve and the pounding in his own ears.

“And now I’m-...I feel like I’m in it so deep I can’t find my way _out_ ,” Steve says in a near whisper, wings jerking once, “I’m...I’m _afraid_ of what will happen if people find out. White’s better now, not perfect, but _better_ than it was. Black is…” Steve takes a deep breath, shaking his wings out and glancing up at Bucky, briefly, eyes full of that same fear that’s in his voice before he turns his head away and looks back out at the city, wings sagging at his back. “And I...The few months after I woke up, I kept up the white, not just because I felt I _had_ to for Captain America, but because it...it reminded me of you, made me feel closer to you when I thought...when I thought you were gone,” he manages to get out, “And now seeing them without it is…” he trails off, and after a minute Bucky realizes that he’s not going to continue.

He closes the cabinet door, sets the dye on the sink, and walks over, stopping a few feet in front of Steve. “Hey,” he says gently. He sees Steve grip the coffee mug a little tighter again, almost in a spasm, before finally dragging his eyes back to Bucky. And they’re worried, sad, so many things the world never really gets to see from the _source_ of _Captain America_. “Remember what Dernier said when he found out?” Bucky asks, and he didn’t know he was going to say it until he opened his mouth, the memory dragged out of the depths he thought it was lost to with it, like Steve’s eyes dragging back to his face.

Steve bursts out a laugh, only a _little_ hysterical, bending slightly with it. “‘ _You didn’t tell us you_ ’-”

“‘ _Ingested all of the allies' jet fuel!_ ’” Bucky finishes with him with a flourish, both in near accurate French accents. Steve starts laughing again and Bucky joins him, the tension chased away from the room with it. Steve takes a deep breath, wings still jittering a little behind him like Bucky’s. His eyes finally settle on Bucky and Bucky grins a little, shrugging his wings a bit.

“It doesn’t have to be about the world, Stevie,” he says, and Steve’s expression sobers, studying him. Bucky smiles, something quiet and old with another shrug of his wings. “What have I been tellin’ ya since we were kids?”

Steve’s eyes widen a little before he ducks his head, lifting it back up after a few moments and running a hand through his short hair, making it stick up every which way. “‘ _They **are** a shade, Steve_ ’,” he quotes. Bucky’s smile eases away. “‘ _I’ll be **damned** if you don’t see that. I’m gonna make you see it whether you want to or not, because it’s what I’ve seen since the day we first met_ ’.” Bucky smiles a little and Steve manages a slightly watery one back, rubbing a hand over his face after a moment and leaving it there as he takes a steadying breath. “It’s still not easy, Buck,” he says quietly after a moment, wings shifting slightly behind him.

“No,” Bucky agrees, “But that don’t make it any less true.”

Steve lowers his hand and finally looks back at him, eyes a little red, but dry.

“Think you can be brave again, Stevie?” Bucky asks.

Steve’s wings give a small jerk and he manages another smile, staring at Bucky for a full minute before finally nodding his head once. “I’ll try, Buck.”

“That’s all I ever ask,” Bucky replies, stretching a wing forward to gently nudge Steve’s with it.

Steve huffs a breath, nudging his back with a small smile.

\--

James leaves Steve asleep in the bed, curled up around a pillow and snoring softly, wings twitching every once in a while in his sleep. He ends up standing in the middle of the whole apartment’s floor, somewhere between the living room and the kitchen, before walking over to where the laptop is sitting on the counter, opening it and turning it on.

There’s nothing from Bucky so he shuts it back down and stares out at the dark and bright of New York City for a while, trying to piece together what he has of Bucky’s old and his new.

\--

Eventually, he walks back to the bedroom, stopping in the door frame to stare at Steve who’s still asleep, watching him breathe and twitch and look seventy years younger, free of most of the burdens he carries in his eyes and body and wings when he’s awake, and something twists in his chest and his stomach, a warm flutter near his heart, and knots below it.

Lukin will come, he knows, Hydra. Reason is telling him to go. Leave. Now. Keep Steve out of the thing coming for its _Winter Soldier_.

He takes a step forward, then another, then another until he’s standing at the edge of the bed, and stares down at Steve, whose eyes eventually crack open and look up at him, daylight at night.

“James…?” Steve asks, groggy and quiet and rough, even _sounding_ younger, like some of the sepia in his scarce few of Bucky's memories, and whatever resolve he’d managed to steel to himself falters and he slips back into the bed, touching a hand to Steve’s shoulder and letting him decide.

Steve looks at him for a moment with half lidded, tired eyes then scoots closer and wraps warm arms around James’s waist, pulling him closer still.

James wraps his own arms around Steve, slow, careful not to hold him with too much strength in case Steve’s body misinterprets it and concludes that James is restraining him. Steve presses his face into his neck, yawning quietly against his skin while bringing a wing up and draping it across them both.

James grips him ( _just a little tighter_ ) and layers his wing gently over Steve’s, resting his mouth against the top of his blonde head, eyes shifting to the window on the other side of the room and the city sprawled out beyond it.

Lukin and Hydra will come, and he should go, logic states that he should _leave_. That Bucky is right.

Steve shifts a little closer and the warmth in his chest grows impossibly hot.

He should leave, but his heart has weighed him down like a sunken ship, and maybe it has always been too late.


	21. Simple words can't define the way I feel inside. No longer cold, no longer scared, no longer waiting for someone to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad for taking a while but if I pushed myself it wouldn't come out as good fdjksl. Not to mention each chapter ranges from like 15-30 pages fjdkslfjdksl.

He spends five minutes staring at the can of dye where Bucky left it on the counter next to the sink basin, a towel wrapped around his hips and wings damp, thinking. He glances up to the mirror, traces his eyes over the contours of his wings, the white, then drops them back to the can.

He gets dressed and goes into the kitchen to make coffee, can of dye left untouched on the counter.

James is sitting in front of the tv on the floor, but the screen’s black and there’s a magazine held open in his lap instead of a book. He looks up when Steve enters the room and lifts up the left side of it after a moment so Steve can see the cover, the glossy page advertising, “ _All New Fall Recipes!_ ”

Steve’s lips curve up.

\--

The kitchen turns out to be stocked with everything they need to make brownies.

James had been quiet throughout the whole thing, not more so than usual, but Steve had caught him watching the ingredients more thoughtfully, eyes dragging over the mountains of flour and sugar blending together with a familiar line between his brow, finger trailing over the cocoa powder and looking at the residue it left clinging to the swirls in the pad with a small frown.

Steve didn’t say anything, just watched James watch the ingredients.

After the brownies have cooled enough (or close to) to eat, they each take a plateful (they’ve had to quadruple the recipe for them to even last to the next _day_ ) and both take a seat on the floor. Or, James does, mostly, Steve just thought it would be awkward to sit at the table ( _above James_ ) by himself. 

Steve’s just taken his first bite when James says, quiet, “Is this what it is like? To be God.”

Steve chokes a little, thumping his chest once as he swallows. He looks across to find James’ eyes on him, a hint of concern there until he decides that Steve is fine and goes back to staring at the brownie held up between his fingers, turning it slowly, elbow propped on his leg.

“What?” Steve asks.

James turns the brownie the other way.

“Creating something from many things, leaving it alone, then destroying it,” he says, “The creator only interfering when it is to hurt or to end.” He takes a bite out of it, as if to emphasize his point, and shifts his eyes up to Steve’s.

Steve blinks, frowning down at his own brownie as he thinks. “I guess...a little?” he says on a question, looking back up, “I didn’t think you were religious.” Which is a safer topic. Maybe.

James swallows down his bite. “I’m not,” he says, looking back down at the brownie, “If there is a God, it has only shown me pain.” He takes another bite.

Steve’s eyebrows pull together, wings shifting slightly as something twinges in his chest. James looks up again, swallows his bite.

“Even with you,” he says, a little quieter. Steve’s wings flare a little. James looks back down to the brownie again. “Even with love, there is pain.”

Steve’s eyes widen.

James takes another bite.

Steve tries to settle his heart rate and get his brain to work. “Then wouldn’t-” he cuts himself off. James looks up at him, tilting his head and raising a wing a little in question. Steve looks down at his plate, rolling the thought around in his head. He doesn’t want to offend James, but- “If God is pain and death, what about The Winter Soldier?” he asks quietly, risking a glance back up.

James has paused in bringing the brownie back towards his mouth, eyes a little wide on Steve and lips slightly parted. Ice blue drops back to the chunk of chocolate as he pulls it away from his face. “I am...more like Death,” he says, quieter, thoughtful, "Was Death or God also enslaved to another?"

Steve loses his appetite.

\--

He leaves James to go talk to Tony about using JARVIS to track Hydra, and to get away from the tense air of his and James' discussion. He’s not sure what to think about any of it, God or pain or Death or...love (But does James understand love? Does Steve? Does _anyone?_ ). Tony agrees with a sly grin, and Steve gets the feeling he owes him,  _again_ , and that he’s not going to like whatever Tony ends up asking him at some point, because Tony Stark always cashes in his favors and everyone involved (including Tony) usually ends up going through a great deal because of it, if anything Steve’s read on him is true.

When he gets back to his floor, though, it’s empty, and his thoughts shift from _Hydra_ and _feelings_ to worst case scenarios and _worry_ , and his initial reaction to panic spikes up with his heart rate. He tries to force it to slow.

“JARVIS,” he calls aloud.

“ _James is on floor fifty-nine, the second communal floor_ ,” JARVIS supplies before Steve can even ask. He isn't sure how JARVIS can differentiate Bucky and James. Maybe it's because of when Steve uses each name, or maybe it's because JARVIS can see the differences. It's smarter than anyone, including Tony, Steve thinks, so he wouldn't be surprised.

“Uh. Thank you,” Steve says, as he rushes out of the apartment.

“ _You’re welcome, Steve_ ,” JARVIS tells him in the elevator.

It only takes a few minutes, but when the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open, Steve freezes before he can take his first step, because there’s _music_ playing.

\--- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrSJ4gpx4LU

It’s a piano.

Steve takes a step out.

He keeps near silent as he walks out of the elevator and into the room at large. It looks almost exactly like the other communal room save for the large concert piano set off to the side and angled next to the floor to ceiling windows, and he briefly wonders how Tony managed to get it up here before he’s focused on the person playing it.

James is sitting at the piano, wings a soft white trailing behind him to the floor and body rocking lightly with his movements as his fingers lightly grace the keys, metal on ivory only quiet _clink_ ing. Steve comes to a stop ten feet away and _listens_.

It’s a minute before James flicks a wing out in Steve’s direction and Steve walks over, rounding the side of the piano and stopping a few feet away from its open chest.

“I didn’t know you could play,” Steve says, just loud enough to be heard over the music. When James opens his eyes they’re on the keys.

“I was programmed to play this song for a conductor I was sent to kill,” he says, just loud enough to be heard, “One song of many.”

The music crescendos into something a little louder, a little faster.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just listens to James play for a minute while he thinks that over, trying to find something to say. James talks before he can, though.

“It is one of the few instruments that can be played without revealing intention,” he says. Steve’s brow furrows and James darts a glance up at him, holding his gaze after a moment while he changes the beat of the song to something jauntier, the same song played upbeat and exciting like a carnival ride while James’ expression never changes, remains placid. Steve’s expression clears in understanding and the music goes back to the pace that it was.

“So you don’t feel how it sounds right now?” Steve asks, and James looks up at him again, playing without looking.

“What is it that you feel?” he asks instead of answering. Steve’s wings shift, eyes dropping to the floor as he focuses. He closes his eyes, trying to get a better feel for the music.

“Dancing and melancholy,” he says after a few moments, opening his eyes and looking back up.

James’ drop back to the keys, watching as his hands sweep over them, metal fingers still soft _clunk_ s. Somehow, Steve thinks it only adds to the music.

James stops playing, the echoes of the last notes drifting out.

“It is not a song I had the choice of playing until now,” he says, quieter, after the echoes have faded and it’s quiet again, eyes still on the keys.

It’s silent for a minute, sunlight streaming across the shiny black of the piano and streaked along Steve’s right side, all of it just short of reaching James where he’s in the room’s shadows.

“Have you never played something because you wanted to?” Steve asks softly, “Or for someone?” James’ eyes drag up to his, going unfocused for a minute in thought. Steve waits.

“I have,” he says, eyes dropping back to the keys as he runs the pads of his fingers lightly over the tops of some. He doesn’t have to elaborate on _who_ he played for. Something in Steve’s chest twinges, but it’s not jealousy, it’s sadness.

“Do you think you might someday again?” Steve asks, a little quieter, wings shuffling slightly behind him and sunlight bouncing off of the white.

“I’d rather listen to your music,” James answers, and closes his eyes.

Steve’s brow furrows again, eyes widening when he finally gets it. His breath stutters and James’ wings twitch once with it, almost in time.

They stay like that for a few minutes, Steve’s cheeks getting warmer and warmer like the heat of the sun on the side of his face and his wings shifting at his back, only managing to stop them for a few moments at a time. James finally opens his eyes and looks at Steve, and that just makes his shifting _worse_. James smiles something small and Steve looks out the windows at the city covered in gold.

“It’s warm here,” James says after a minute, and Steve’s eyes shift back to find him staring out the windows, brow furrowed a little and mouth slightly pulled down, wings shifting once.

“It’s October,” Steve says, but James just turns his head back around and looks at him, and Steve finally gets that, too. “Oh,” he says lamely. James’ eyes drop back to the keys while his hands rise.

\--- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCAXo0J8z9Y

He starts playing again, something that starts loud and jarring and makes Steve jump, wings giving a sharp jerk at the sudden blast of notes coming at him from his immediate right. They escalate up before easing into light _plop_ s of sound, trickling down into something that reminds Steve of walking alone down a cobblestone street in 1944, cold trying to bite through the heat of his neck and cheeks, freezing his shield enough to feel it through his gloves when Steve threw it. It escalates into flurries and eases off into gentle snowfall.

It sounds like Winter.

And somehow, with his wings just slightly relaxed, just a little _off_ from how he usually holds himself, shoulders just the slightest less tense, James looks a little more at home in the harsh and cold notes coming out of a wide open chest, stabbing through the warmth of the sunlight trying to stretch across the glossy black to reach him.

(It never does).

\--

James runs into Tony Stark an hour later on the other communal floor, after playing songs he hasn’t thought of in forty years and Steve updating him on the beginning of a loose plan - that JARVIS is running a search for Hydra, for Lukin. James doesn’t think they’ll have to wait long before Hydra or Lukin act, so his more immediate concern is planning eventualities for when that happens. He's not sure how his mas- Lukin will move, so he tries to plan for all possibilities.

Tony Stark freezes when he sees him, eyes darting over his face, and taking in what James assumes is his expression and body language, before finally speaking.

“Assassin Barnes,” Tony greets.

James raises an eyebrow and his wings twitch, just a little. “Mr. Stark,” he says, just to be an ass back.

Tony Stark’s wings rise a bit, feathers puffing up like an offended bird. “No, that would be dear old _dad_ ,” he corrects, “I’m just ‘Tony’. And I prefer it that way.”

James cocks his head and a wing slightly. “Your father,” he gets a flash of a car going over the edge of a cliff, a bullet firing and his left arm absorbing the recoil, the sound of tires skidding from about ten meters off. He keeps his expression blank. “Worked with Bucky Barnes,” he continues after the slight pause, keeping the revelation out of his voice. The rest of his memories aren’t likely to come back, but it seems some are still trickling through the closing gap in his mind. He’ll have to tell Bucky what he’s learned. Bucky knew Howard Stark. His stomach twists.

Tony Stark huffs a snort, reaching for a pack of berries in one of the containers on the counter. “More like _tormented him_ ,” he replies. James cocks his head again and Tony Stark leans back against the counter, pulling open the bag of berries. “From what I was told,” Tony starts, looking down into the bag while rummaging around in it with a few fingers, avoiding eye contact, “Barnes- Other Barnes, didn’t really get along with my old man. Was always angry at him for helping turn Rogers into what he is now: tall, blonde, adonis. A symbol. A target. They’d get into fights off and on, a few _Rogers_ had to break up - and I think one that involved wrenches and a motorcycle tire - but for the most part they were...mostly civil around each other. After all, it was _dear old dad_ that was also developing things to keep _Rogers_ and the rest of the _Commandos_ as safe as they could be on their missions.” Tony Stark finally looks up as he pulls a large blueberry out of the packet, wings fluttering a little at the spoil of his small quest, and pops it into his mouth, chewing as he looks at him, waiting for a reaction.

James thinks over the words, tries to imagine Bucky and a younger Howard Stark throwing punches and wrenches and tires at one another. He imagines that Howard Stark looked a lot like a younger version of the man in front of him, but all that he can remember seeing of him was a grainy photo during his mission assignment and a darkened silhouette on the other end of his scope, cranial and jaw structure near matching to the photo, the car’s licensing matching his mission brief exact-

“He kept trying to look for him,” Tony Stark says after a minute of silence, breaking James out of his thoughts. Tony’s looking back down into the blueberry bag, digging around again. “After Rogers crashed the plane," he clarifies, "Kept looking for him for _years_.” He pulls out another large blueberry, studying it for a long moment.

“Your father loved Steve,” James concludes, just as Tony Stark’s tossed the blueberry into his mouth. He coughs and chokes a little, but eventually gets it down, wide eyes on him, a little watery in his red face from the strain of swallowing.

“Uh. Pretty sure dad was more into  _tail_ than  _sausage,_ if you catch my drift,” Tony says, and James’ expression evens out a little more.

“I did not say ‘in’,” he states. Tony Stark’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead before they suddenly drop, eyes darting off to the side while his wings sag a bit against the edge of the counter, all happening in almost too quick succession. But James catches it. He’s trained to.

“...Yeah,” Tony Stark says quietly, after a moment, eyes still directed away from James, “Something like that.”

It’s silent for another few minutes, James watching Tony Stark’s eyes go a little unfocused even as they drop back to the bag in his hand, almost slouched against the counter in something like defeat. 

When it looks like he’s not going to say anything else, James starts to turn to go, but halfway turned around Tony Stark speaks up again.

“You should let me take a look at your arm,” he says, and James looks back to find Tony looking at him.

James frowns slightly.

Tony nods his chin towards his shoulder. “Ninth panel is just a little off,” he says, and James darts a look down, “It’s going to start grinding soon.”

James looks back up.

Tony shrugs his wings after a moment, pushing himself away from the counter and heading past James to the elevator. “You know where to find me,” he says as he goes, and then he’s gone.

James stares at the elevator doors.

\--

He opens the refrigerator door, light spilling across the dark wood flooring of the apartment and briefly blinding him in the dark. He squints into it for a moment before pulling out a container of lunch meat and staring down at it in thought, glancing to the side when the sound of footsteps catch his attention.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, poorly stifling a yawn with a hand before running the fingers up through his messy hair, making it even messier. That now familiar _something_ in his chest warms a little more at seeing it.

“I’m hungry,” he says simply, letting the refrigerator door slowly fall closed as he opens up the container and takes three waded slices out, taking a bite. Steve blinks a few times, like he’s not sure if he’s awake or dreaming, then shrugs his wings and walks over, reaching forward. James leans back, cradling the container to his chest while he eats the rest of the slices he’d pulled out. Steve blinks again as he pauses, then grins a little and lunges faster. James half spins to the left, barely avoiding his attempt. Steve is surprisingly agile for being half asleep, and part of his brain automatically files the information away. Steve huffs a breath and tries again, and James dodges back.

They continue their little game for a few minutes until James ends up with his lower back hitting the counter, jolting him slightly, and Steve takes advantage of it and pins him in, bringing his wings forward to create a small barrier James can’t easily escape. James frowns, going over his options, but Steve sneaks a few slices before he can decide just how much the meat is worth. A few punches? Maybe. A kick? Possibly. But it’s too late now.

He looks up at Steve and Steve smirks back while he chews, leaning his head back to drop the rest of what he’d snagged into his mouth. James’ eyes end up trailing down the long line of his throat without his say, and he forces them to drop back to the container when he sees Steve’s wings stiffen out of the corners of his eyes. The wings shift after a moment in his periphery and James looks up-

And Steve’s lips find his, soft and gentle, and James freezes for a moment before he closes his eyes and lets himself melt into it a little, fingers tightening on the container when Steve’s hands carefully and hesitantly find and grip his hips.

He’s not sure how long the kiss stays like that, soft and gentle, but then one of them shifts and it gets harder and a little more desperate, their bodies closer and tongues finding each other. James manages to set the container down on the counter before reaching up and gripping Steve’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. He shifts his wings forward, brushing the sides of Steve’s arms and Steve’s wings overlap his, hands gripping James hips more firmly while he changes the angle of the kiss, making a soft sound into James’ mouth after their noses bump.

He tastes like the lunch meat and _Steve_ , and James has the fleeting thought that something like that is supposed to be funny, but then Steve’s tongue brushes his upper lip before sliding back into his mouth and it’s chased away, kiss going harder as he huffs out a breath through his nose against both their faces.

Their hips brush and some part of James is surprised to find himself a little hard ( _and Steve_ ), but then Steve’s breath stutters and he pulls back, wings and all, and James opens eyes to find Steve’s lips slick and red even in the dark and his eyes a little wide, panting with James like they’ve both run twenty miles.

“I- I can’t...not yet,” Steve says, and James nods, pulling his own wings back.

He doesn’t say anything as Steve watches him with eyes that are a little sad, _ashamed_ , and Steve’s wings sag at his back. James shakes his head a little and leans forward, catching sight of Steve’s wings stiffening out of the corner of his eye, but he only presses a light kiss to the side of Steve’s neck and then leans back, looking up at him. Steve’s breath catches again and then his lips twitch up a little, soft and... _grateful_.

James do the same and they stand there for a few more minutes, just watching each other in the dark.

\--

Steve shifts and stretches a wing out, cracking an eye open when he finds the other side of the bed empty again, sunlight spilling into the room this time. He and James have been sharing the bed, even though there’s another bedroom down the hall (at least three) and a couch. It’s...nice. Not quite like how it was with Bucky, but still nice all the same.

He rolls over and lifts his head up, finding the bathroom empty, then rolls out of bed and heads for the kitchen, keeping an eye out on the way there.

He gets a cup of coffee made, still with no sign or sound of James (not that that’s saying much), and tries to keep himself calm.

“JARVIS?” he asks, taking a sip, heat sliding down and easing his bones.

“ _First floor daycare,_ ” JARVIS answers, and Steve’s wings rise a little as he straightens up, leaving his coffee on the counter and heading for the door and the elevator.

“Why is he in a daycare?” Steve asks while the elevator takes him down, "And any progress on Hydra and Lukin?”

“ _None yet_ ,” JARVIS replies, almost a little shortly, like it’s not pleased with the answer, either, “ _And James started exploring the Tower this morning_.”

Steve lets the unease at Hydra and the worry at James in his gut twist and twirl while the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open. It stays there even as JARVIS helps direct him through a few halls to find the daycare.

But then it all slides away and disappears when he sees the sight inside the room over the bottom half of the half-door that keeps the younger children from wandering or crawling out into the hall.

James is crouched down in front of a child that can’t be older than five, both of them staring at one another with the kind of intense, almost vacant focus that Steve thought only children were capable of. Two of the daycare employees are warily watching from opposite ends of the room, wings shifting a little nervously where they’re each taking care of a few diapers, ready to move if they need to. Steve’s not even sure how James even managed to get into the room without getting stopped by security ( _he has a flash of Tony. Maybe_ ). One of them catches Steve’s eye, brown wings jerking up a little in surprise and then in a question aimed towards James, and Steve smiles a little and shakes his head, bringing a finger to his lips.

The kids are fine, he’s pretty sure. Actually, he’s not sure James has ever been this close to one.

The daycare employees both nod and Steve turns his attention back to James.

James tilts his head a little to the side and the child copies him. The child raises its dirty blonde wings and James copies _him_. They stare at each other, almost unblinkingly, and then James starts weaving his wings back and forth in the air, slowly at first, and just enough to create a light breeze that sends the child’s bangs up with it. The child giggles, trying to move his wings the same. James starts fluttering his in quick bursts that shoot small gusts of air into the child's face, and the child laughs, James’ lips twitching up with it. Steve doesn’t realize he’s smiling until James glances over and James’ lips finally _do_ curve up into a small smile of his own. Steve grins a little back and watches James stand up, brushing the edge of his long feathers lightly across the child’s head who watches him go, mussing up dirty blonde hair. The child sways a little with it and giggles again, waving a wing like ‘ _goodbye_ ’ in return when James does.

Steve steps back when James jerks a wing slightly towards him and then James is vaulting over the half-door, the sound of faint grinding coming from under the sleeve of his shirt. Steve’s eyes are drawn to it before he catches the two daycare employees trying to subtly make their way over to the child. James looks over at the kid.

“They are strange,” he says, quiet and a little soft.

“Have you seen any before?” Steve asks, watching James watch the children.

James’ eyebrows pull together a little in thought before smoothing back out again. “Once,” he says, a little blankly, looking back at Steve after a moment.

Steve wants to press, wants to ask, but it’s like with wanting to know about Natasha, some part of James’ past that he’s not sure he’s allowed into, so he keeps his questions to himself. James shifts and Steve hears the grinding again, eyes darting back down to his arm.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asks, worry rising a little again.

James glances down at his arm, shaking his head slightly after looking back up at Steve. “It is from fighting through S.H.I.E.L.D. I can fix it,” he replies.

Steve swallows and nods a little, then follows James down the hall and back to the elevators, trying to push past memories he’s already getting tired of having a hold on him, and tells James that JARVIS hasn’t found anything yet.

\--

He finds the lab with JARVIS’ help, and Tony Stark is easy to find within it, welding something at a work table with a pair of goggles on and dirt covering the parts of his face and arms that James can see.

“You finally going to let me take a look at your arm?” Tony asks after a minute of James standing just inside the room, turning the blowtorch off and pushing his goggles up onto his forehead, clean circles around his eyes. James’ lips twitch and his wings with it, and Tony Stark raises an eyebrow.

“Can I use your tools?” he asks instead. Questions and requests have gotten easier, but they’re still...strange. It helps this time, though, that he’s asking for something that he needs.

Tony watches him for a moment before giving a shrug, wings and shoulders. “As long as you don’t try to stab me with them or build a weapon,” he says, watching him.

James glances down at his left arm, lifting his hand and watching it make a fist. He looks back up.

“To repair one?” he asks next. Tony’s face pinches and twists while his wings jerk in what might be anger, but he just shrugs again, a little sharper this time, and yanks his goggles back down, turning the blowtorch back on. James decides to take that as permission ( _and ignore the slight pressure in his chest, the fear of acting without definitives_ ) and heads over to a few laid out tools on a nearby table.

He ends up looking over seven scattered out work spaces before he finally finds one that has a tool that he calculates will do what he needs. He shifts the panel up that’s grinding three-fourths of the way up his forearm and doesn’t jump when Tony says, a few minutes later, “JARVIS.” A guitar rift starts and James’ wings twitch. He feels the prickle of eyes on the side of his face.

He ignores it and goes back to working on his arm in what he thinks might be companionable mechanics, wings shifting slightly every now and then to the beats of the music. He only feels eyes on him a few more times before he’s finished and leaves, gold and red and dark brown shifting in his periphery.

\--

Steve stretches a wing out somewhere between sleep and awake, blinking his eyes open halfway when he finds the other side of the bed still warm but empty. He pushes himself out of it and keeps his steps quiet as he heads out of the room, following the sound of soft _thump-clunk_ ing coming from the direction of the kitchen.

He sees the light first, slanted out across the dark floor, then stops when he sees James, or Bucky, leaned halfway into the fridge, wings shuffling around distractedly at his back. Steve opens his mouth then freezes, wings flaring a little when _Bucky_ leans up enough for Steve to see most of his face over the top of the door, head whipping around in Steve’s direction and wings flaring while his eyes widen, looking caught.

They stare at each other for second before Bucky blows out a breath. Steve doesn’t move for another few seconds before he starts laughing quietly, shaking a little with it. Bucky frowns, standing up straighter.

“What’s so funny?” he almost demands, wings twitching once.

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “I caught James doing the same thing the other morning,” Steve replies.

Bucky’s wings tense and his eyes widen briefly before he looks off to the side, eyes darting to the fridge and then somewhere on the counter to the side of it before he reaches over. Steve hears things getting shoved back into the fridge before Bucky closes the door and walks over and past him, an almost petulant frown on his face.

Steve watches, a little bemused, turning to watch him head over to the hall and listening to the door close to the second bedroom down.

\--

Steve’s been laying in bed alone for ten minutes, staring out at the night view of the city with half lidded eyes and trying to get himself to fall asleep with the space next to him empty (and when did he get used to having someone there?), when he hears a faint sound. He pushes himself out of bed again and heads back towards the kitchen, pausing at its edge when he sees Bucky back in the fridge, wings twitching a little jerkily. Bucky doesn’t look up this time even though Steve's pretty sure Bucky knows he's there, and the lights from the fridge highlight Bucky's frown.

He closes the door, gathering the few things he’d pulled out of the fridge into his arms off of the counter before walking past Steve again with a defiant look.

Steve just grins and Bucky turns his head sharply away, turning down the hall again.

\--

Seven hours later, while Steve’s planning against Hydra with James and trying to come up with a solid move, Hydra makes _theirs_.

Or, rather, Lukin does.

“ _Steve, you have a call from the Kronas Corporation_ ,” JARVIS says, and Steve and James’ heads snap up towards the ceiling, “ _Mr. Stark has requested you both join him in the Communal Lounge and that it is urgent_.” Which means Tony actually demanded it and JARVIS is just wording it nicely. Either way, Steve’s already halfway out the door, James a step behind him, cereal bowls forgotten on the counter.

When they arrive on the floor, Tony and Natasha are already there, both turning towards them.

“You ready?” Tony asks, and Steve nods, coming to a stop next to Tony with James at his left, Natasha somewhere a bit off from James’.

A screen materializes five feet in front of them and Tony says, “JARVIS, record call,” and then Lukin’s face is flickering into view.

“ _Ah, Captain America, Mr. Stark, Ms. Romanoff_ ,” Lukin greets. It’d be pleasant if Steve didn’t know better. Lukin’s eyes go over each of them before finally landing on James. “ _Soldier_ ,” he says, and James doesn’t quite tense, but Steve does. Lukin shifts his eyes back to Steve. “ _I’ve called to ask that you return my property, Captain_.”

Steve’s feathers bristle. “He’s not your property.”

Lukin makes a small sound. “ _Sergeant Barnes, your Howling Commando, maybe not_ ,” he concedes, eyes shifting back to James, “ _But **that** is._ ”

Steve’s wings flare. “ _We won’t_ -”

“ _Shall I give you reasons?_ ” Lukin asks, cutting Steve off, reaching for something off screen. At this, James _does_ tense a bit.

Lukin unwinds something that's still off screen and Steve just makes out the edge of a folder being flipped open before there’s the sound of papers rustling, and then Lukin says-

“ _Natalia Alianovna Romanova_ ,” and Steve glances over to see Natasha’s wings tense slightly, “ _Born 1948. One of twenty-eight young girls chosen for the Bolshoi- Excuse me. The Black Widow Program_.” Natasha’s gone still. Lukin looks up for a moment, lips curved up just a little in her direction before looking back down and continuing. “ _Saved from a fire that started under 'unknown causes' as a child_.” Lukin glances up at James this time and when Steve looks, James has gone just as still as Natasha. Lukin continues.

“ _Anthony Edward Stark_ ,” and Steve catches Tony shifting out of the corner of his eye, fists clenching. Lukin looks up at him briefly before looking back down, the sound of more papers rustling before he continues. “ _Born to Howard and Maria Stark, both of which died of a 'strange car accident’ on Long Island in 1991_.” He stops again, looking up at Tony briefly before shifting his eyes over to James, then turning them to Steve with his lips curved up again, just slightly, just enough for them all to tell. “ _I’ll give you some time to think_ ,” he says after a tense, silent moment, and then the feed cuts out and the screen dematerializes.

None of them move for a minute, and then Natasha is breaking off from the group, walking calmly to the other end of the room towards the other elevator while pulling out her phone (Steve manages to hear a, “ _Clint. Talk to me. ...Anything_ ,” before she’s gone). The action jars Tony out of whatever he’d been locked in and his stiff body jolts. He practically runs in the opposite direction, the sound of the elevator doors sliding closed behind _him_. Steve looks over at James.

James is still unmoving, somehow both tense and loose all at the same time, hands relaxed and twitching just slightly at his sides like his wings are at his back. Steve opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but James turns and stalks down the hall before he can, the sound of the elevator doors marking his exit like Natasha and Tony’s. Steve stands there for a minute, the implications of what Lukin said whirling through his mind and whether he should leave James to himself or not, before he finally lets out a frustrated sound and turns on his heel, running for the elevator.

“JARVIS,” Steve says, “Please take me to whatever floor James went to.”

“ _Yes, Steve,_ ” JARVIS replies.

Steve waits impatiently while the elevator moves, foot tapping against the floor until it finally stops (on his floor) and the doors slide open. He’s out of them before they even get open all the way.

He scans the apartment once he gets inside, and after quickly walking around the partitions he finds James on the other side of the kitchen at the frameless floor to ceiling windows that make up the entire back wall of it and wrap around the left side, facing the city. Steve slows as he approaches, ears picking up the sound of repetitive, measured _thud, thud, thud_ s in time with James’ slight swaying back and forth. He picks up the whisper as it slowly gets louder the closer he gets.

“...-eapon, I’m a weapon, I’m a weapon, I’m a-”

Steve’s heart breaks and lurches the shards up into his throat, getting them caught in his voice on the way.

The thumping increases as James starts hitting his forehead on the glass with more force, the sounds quickly getting louder and louder as he repeats-

“I’m a weapon, I’m a weapon, I’m a weapon _I’m a weapon I’m a weapon_ -” faster and faster, and Steve’s about to rush forward when James slams his forehead against the glass one final time before bending and grabbing at the sides of his head, pressing the top of his head hard against the glass. “ _I’maweaponI’maweapon **I’maweapon I’MAWEAPON!**_”

Steve does rush forward at that, but reaches out slowly, carefully resting his fingers first on James’ right shoulder, unsure if he’s going to get a faceful of metal for it. James doesn’t flinch, just curls in on himself tighter, wings trembling at his back, and Steve rests his full hand on his shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “James,” he says quietly. James shakes his head quickly, face turned down so Steve can’t see it. “ _James_ ,” he repeats.

“ _Not_ ,” James manages to get out, voice choked and rough, “ _Not a person_. Machine. Weapon. **_Gun_.** Winter Soldier. Project 17. _3255_ -” he cuts himself off with a choked sound in the back of his throat, shaking his head roughly while his wings and body shudder. He’s quiet for a moment before saying, “Not Bucky. Not James. _Winter Soldier. I’m a **weapon**_. I was made so _Bucky_ could handle the _mess_ in his head. I _**am** the **mess in Bucky’s head**_ -”

“Your name is James,” Steve cuts in, a little louder but firm, and James freezes, going completely still, silent. “ _Your name is James_ ,” Steve repeats, still gripping his shoulder, “You love to listen to Classical music and hum along. You love to read the books I had in my apartment. You love making brownies and getting philosophical over them and the meaning of life. You’re quiet, but never in the way that means you’re meek. A whole room would go silent just to listen to you talk because whatever you have to say is always _worth hearing_ , even if it’s just- Even if it’s just my name,” Steve struggles to get out, throat closing up. He can’t unravel here, he _**can’t**_ \- “Your name is James, and you sleep on the floor in the sun and think you’re like Beast from _Beauty and the Beast_. _Your name is James_ ,” Steve continues, trying to blink back the stinging in his eyes, “And you protected me. You _do_ protect me. And you kissed me before we came to the Tower. You kissed me _after_. Even when I- Even when I told you what happened. You helped me. You _still do_. _**Your name is James**_ ,” Steve tries to get out, eyes on James where he still hasn’t moved, breaths so quiet Steve almost can’t hear them, “And you and Bucky bicker like brothers who act like they don’t like each other when they really _do_. Your name is James. I **_care_ ** about you. And you are not just a weapon. You’re a _**person.**_ ”

James’ body gives a full shudder before it starts trembling, wings sagging like dead weights at his back and to the floor while a muffled, strangled sound comes out of the back of his throat. When Steve looks down after a moment, there’s a few drops of water on the floor in front of James’ feet. He looks back up and freezes.

James stares back at him, tears running down his cheeks and fingers pressing hard into the sides of his head, eyes red rimmed and so-

 _Scared_.

“Steve,” he says quietly, voice rougher than it was. Steve swallows, squeezing James’ shoulder again.

“James,” he replies, trying on a smile. It’s hard and it feels like it stretches his face weird, but James blinks more tears out of his eyes and turns a little towards him, fingers sliding an inch out of his hair.

“My name is- My name is James,” he says, staring at Steve, looking almost uncertain, and Steve _hates_ that he’s uncertain. That Lukin _did_ _that to him_.

Steve nods once, keeping a firm hold on him, trying to ground him. “Yes,” he confirms, “Your name is James, James.” He tries to crack another smile and it feels better this time, less on the verge of coming apart at the seams, just like James. Just like both of them.

“ _Steve_ ,” James says again, a little stronger this time. Steve nods again and then James darts forward before Steve can react, afraid for a quarter of a second that James might _do_ _something_ -

And then he’s got an armful of James, arms wrapped tight around his middle and wings around his sides and James’ face smashed into the side of his neck, tears warm and wet on Steve’s skin and breath coming out in staccato huffs that would be fogging up the surface if Steve were made of glass.

Steve kind of feels like he’s made of glass.

He wonders what James would draw in the fog on him if he were, if he would draw at all. If James would break him.

Steve wraps his arms around him, slowly, enveloping James in his wings at the same pace. “ _Your name is James_ ,” Steve repeats, softer, a little shaky, and James nods against the side of his neck, still shaking. “You’re not the ' _mess in Bucky’s head_ ',” Steve says, after a moment, quiet but firm, and James stills in his arms. Steve shakes his head a little, making sure James feels it against the the top of his own, “You’re your own person. And your name is James.” James stays still for a long moment and Steve starts worrying he’s said the wrong thing, but then James practically melts against him with a pained sound muffled into the side of Steve’s throat, like it hurts him to do it, trembling all over, and Steve tightens his grip around him, his eyes stinging again. “Your name is James,” Steve repeats, over and over until the shaking stops, and then for a while after.

\--

He leaves James asleep on the couch (unless he’s Bucky now) and heads down to Tony’s workshop. There’s music playing so loud that it hurts his eardrums, but he moves further into the room anyway, stopping five feet away from where Tony’s poking at something with two completely different tools. Steve doesn’t say anything, just waits.

“You know,” Tony says after a few minutes as he gestures with a tool, the music lowering to almost nothing. It’s jarring, the sudden quiet. “It’s kind of funny. Dad always talked about _Captain America_ and sometimes his _Howling Commandos_ , and in the end it killed him.” Steve keeps his wings still and doesn’t say anything, but when Tony glances up at him a moment later Steve realizes Tony’s waiting for a reply.

“It’s not funny,” he says.

“It’s a little funny,” Tony returns, looking back down at his...project.

It’s quiet again, so after a couple of minutes Steve says, “We’ll go.”

Tony sighs, shaking his head as he sits up on his stool, finally looking back up at Steve. “I am forty-four years old,” he drops his eyes back to his table, “I’m over it. I’ve been over it for a long time,” but he sounds like he’s trying to convince _himself_ of that more than Steve.

“You shouldn’t have to be in the same space as us,” Steve says, after a moment, “Not like this.”

Tony sighs again, shrugging his wings a little. “Maybe,” he allows, “But we ' _saved the world_ _together'_. That has to count for something.”

Steve holds in his, _'Does it?'_  and waits.

“Besides,” Tony says next, wings twitching once, “It’d be boring without you guys around. Last week I was just working on another suit of armor, now I’ve got a seventy year old, _Nazi-science organization_  shaking up my life and knocking on my door. It couldn’t _get_ more interesting. Well, no, it could, but this is plenty for now.” He smirks up at Steve, a little brittle but still a _smirk_ , and Steve’s lips twitch up in return, schooling his face after a moment.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

Tony glances back down at his project again, expression almost blank but eyes flitting back and forth over the metal pieces in front of him while he thinks, wings twitching again. “Yeah,” he decides, “Yeah, I’m sure. Just. Give me some time.”

Steve nods and waits another moment before turning to go, stopping after a few feet when Tony says-

“I get it.”

Steve stops and turns back around, raising a wing a little in question.

Tony looks up at him. “I get that it’s Lukin. Hydra. James was just the gun.”

Steve’s eyes widen a little while his wings flare slightly before he nods, lowering them back down.

Tony nods back then bends back over his table to work on his project, and Steve watches him for another moment before turning back around and heading for the elevator.

\--

He’s awake.

He’s not sure when he fell asleep and he’s not sure what he’s sleeping on, but he can feel eyes on him and suddenly _he’s awake_.

He doesn’t move for a long minute, just keeps his breathing deep and even and _listens_ , but he can’t hear anything, which means it’s probably-

“James,” Natasha says, soft and deadly. Bucky opens his eyes and sits up-

Oh. He’s on the couch.

He looks up.

Natasha’s standing on the other side of the room, off more towards the door. The distance feels significant, though whether it’s for her safety or  _his_ , he’s not sure.

Her eyes narrow slightly, studying his face, arms loose at her sides and wings still.

For him, then.

Her posture loosens, just a little, in a non-deadly way, and she shakes her head slightly. “Not James,” she concludes.

Bucky shakes his his own head, rising up from the couch. Natasha tenses slightly so he stays where he is. “No,” he agrees, “Why? You finally decide to talk to him?” he tries to joke, but it falls flat and she just stares at him. It’s serious, then. “What happened?” Her eyes dart to the side, only for a moment, but that’s _also_ significant. Natasha never looks away. “Natasha,” he says, firm but a little soft at the edges. He doesn’t think she’d take kindly to something that sounds pitying.

She watches him for a tense moment before shaking her head slightly. “Steve will tell you,” she says, then turns for the door and leaves.

A weight forms in his gut.

He’s not sure if he just got a stay of execution or sent to a different set of gallows.

\--

Steve comes back to find Bucky slowly pacing the length behind the back of the couch, pausing and turning to look at him when Steve walks through the door. “What happened?” he demands, and Steve pauses before closing the door behind him, watching it slide shut so he can take a moment to think. It’s best to be up front with Bucky, he’s learned, anything else and he’ll _have_ _Steve’s ass._ And he’ll find out later, anyway.

“Lukin called,” Steve says, and looks back up to see Bucky tense, arms crossing over his chest.

“And?” he prompts, when Steve doesn’t continue. Steve holds in a sigh.

“And he told us some things. About The Winter Soldier,” he says.

Bucky tenses further, feathers puffing up a little even though his eyes are an _afraid_ kind of unreadable. “What kind of things?”

Steve does sigh at that, because he can’t avoid this and he wishes it didn’t even have to exist in the first place. “That The Winter Soldier burned down Natasha’s home so she’d be taken into the Black Widow program. That The Winter Soldier...killed Howard.” Bucky sucks in a breath, fists clenching. Steve watches him closely, trying to gauge how to react.

“I...I did that,” Bucky says, quiet and little toneless, “I destroyed Natasha’s life. I killed Howard. I killed _Stark’s father-_ ” He drops his head and reaches up to push his fingers up against his scalp, and Steve has a flash of James doing almost the exact same thing earlier and finds himself walking forward.

“Bucky-” he tries, but Bucky shakes his head quickly, hunching in on himself. Steve stops a foot away, fists clenching uselessly at his sides, watching Bucky’s wings tremble faintly and trying not to compare it all to James.

They’re different. They’re the same.

Bucky lifts his head up a bit after a couple minutes, hands slowly sliding out of his hair. “I need...I need to be alone,” he says, and then he’s heading for the bedroom before Steve can stop him, can only watch him go.

(Just like always).

\--

He’s not sure how long he stands there, bedroom door closed at his back. It could be five minutes, ten, _an_ _hour_ , but he finally says, “JARVIS.”

“ _Yes, Bucky?_ ”

He tries to think through the cluster and white noise in his head for a moment. “Can you play the security footage of James watching Lukin’s call?”

A screen materializes a moment later and Steve, James, Tony, and Natasha all come into view, the four of them standing in what looks like the communal room with a large holoscreen in front of them, filled with a face he doesn’t know. He assumes it’s Lukin.

He listens to the entire thing, hears Lukin talk about Natasha and Tony, but most of all he watches their faces. He replays it and watches Natasha all through the second time, Tony the third, Steve the fourth, and finally, the one he really wanted to pay attention to but avoided, James.

He watches James tense and he watches him stalk off. He replays it three more times, tries to focus on his face, his body language, but there’s nothing overt. James probably has to _try_ at being obvious. His emotions are so much harder to catch in physical form.

That's not to say that Bucky doesn't think he can _feel_ , just that he...doesn't broadcast it, unless they get away from him or he's _trying_ to.

“JARVIS,” he calls when he’s done, the screen gone, “Is there any footage of James after this?” It’s quiet for a minute, and Bucky gets the feeling JARVIS is hesitating.

“ _There is_ ,” JARVIS finally says, “ _But it is rather personal_.”

That makes Bucky pause. “How personal?”

JARVIS is quiet again before another screen materializes, and Bucky watches.

\--

He takes a shaky breath, finds he’s swaying slightly and lets himself drop to his ass on the floor, wings splayed out across it and feathers bunched up against the wall and door.

He sits there for a while, losing track of time all over again, before he swallows and finally looks up, and asks JARVIS to play it again.

\--

Steve hears the door open after a couple of hours and quickly rises from the couch, turning towards it. When Bucky comes out, he doesn’t immediately look at Steve, instead has his eyes somewhere around his knees, looking a little stunned. He didn’t even put his hair in a ponytail.

“Buck?” Steve asks softly.

Bucky drags his eyes up slowly, looking like it takes effort, and finally looks at Steve.

“I might have…” he trails off, clearing his throat when it comes out a little scratchy, “Maybe I’ve been a little hard on James.” Steve frowns. Bucky drops his eyes to the floor and then to the side. "I...watched the video of him after you guys talked with Lukin."

Steve's eyes widen a little, wings flaring. He's not...he's not sure what to say to that.

Bucky glances at him, lightning quick before he's looking back at the floor.

"I didn't..." he trails off, shoulders slumping a little with his wings, "I didn't know he...felt...that. I didn't know he _could_ feel that way. I thought-" he cuts himself off, clenching his fists. "He didn't fake it. I know he didn't. He-...Shit," he says, rubbing over his face with a hand and then leaving it there for a moment, blocking his eyes, finally dropping it and looking up at Steve. "I'm sorry."

Steve lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment and letting his wings fall back to resting. He opens them again to look at Bucky, who looks... _contrite_. "You need to tell him that," Steve says softly. 

Bucky nods once, firmly, standing up a little straighter. "I will."

Steve nods back, smiling a little.

"So..." Bucky trails off after a minute, wings shifting, "What are we gonna do."

Steve's wings flare a little, lowering again as he shakes his head, smiling for a moment before he schools his face. "We're going to take the fight to them."

Bucky nods and then smirks, something dark in it, in his eyes. "We'll help."

Steve cracks a small smile, looking up to the ceiling as he says, "JARVIS. Can you pull up a map and Lukin's location?" 

A hologram materializes to their sides.

Bucky goes to get a hair tie and then comes back to help Steve plot out possible locations. A wing brushes his after a few minutes and he looks over, and Bucky grins a little back. It feels a bit like 1944.


	22. What you were is not what you are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So. I decided to finally watch season two of Arrow and this pairing of SLADE AND OLIVER kind of HIT ME LIKE A TANK and I'VE BEEN TRYING TO READ EVERY SINGLE FIC I CAN GET A HOLD OF because there's not a _whole lot_ but there's some and I have a _need_. I am still writing this, I've already started the next chapter as well as one for two others, I'm just. Minorly distracted.

“ _Did you consider?_ ” Lukin asks. Steve doesn’t even hesitate.

“The answer’s no,” he says, wings flaring out, “He’s not your property.” Lukin makes a _tsk_ sound, looking in Bucky’s direction. Steve watches out of the corner of his eye.

Bucky for his part doesn’t even twitch a muscle, just keeps himself as still as James would, hair blocking his eyes from Steve’s view. Steve would bet his shield they’re just as convincing.

Lukin lets out a sigh and looks back to Steve. Steve returns the stare.

“ _You will come to regret this, Captain_ ,” he says, and then the feed cuts out.

Steve blows out a breath, turning to Bucky.

Bucky hasn’t moved, but one of his wings gives a slight twitch.

“So that’s the asshole who thinks we’re his toy,” he says flatly, not asks, wing giving a more violent jerk. Steve doesn’t miss the ‘we’ and not ‘I’.

He doesn’t say anything and Bucky lets out a long, slow breath, curving his fingers into slow fists three times before his wings finally relax a bit, body doing the same. “How the hell does he _stand_ like that all the time?” Bucky half grumbles, finally looking over at Steve.

Steve just shrugs, wings and all, and Bucky huffs out a breath, going over to the kitchen counter to pick his hair tie back up and pulling back his hair.

As far as they know, Lukin doesn’t know about Bucky, and they’d rather keep it that way. Just in case.

“JARVIS,” Steve says, and all of the maps he’d been going over before the call materialize again, four red spots marking the most likely locations he’s been able to come up with so far (with JARVIS' help) and green marking likely trade routes from Kronas to them. Bucky walks back over, pulling his hair through the last loop and dropping his arms to his sides.

“Looks like an evil Christmas,” he says with a raised brow. Steve just manages not to roll his eyes, but his lips twitch. “What do you think he meant by regret?” Bucky asks a minute later. Steve looks over and Bucky drags his eyes from the map to look back. Steve shakes his head slightly.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Assault the Tower?” Bucky suggests.

“Stark said it was secure,” Steve replies, but he doesn’t sound as sure as he wants, and he doesn’t feel as sure, either.

Bucky drops his eyes to the ground in thought before darting them up to the maps, looking over them for a moment before he turns and heads for the bedrooms. “I’ll go fill James in,” he says.

Steve’s lips twitch again as he watches Bucky for a moment before he turns back to the screens. At least, even with everything, Bucky and James are trying to get along again.

\--

Steve gets up to nine likely locations before it’s James’ turn, some ones he recognizes from his last mission with-

From his last mission. But at least half of them are new, and possibly traps.

He’s been going over the maps and comparing what he knows and what information they were able to pull up from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s secure servers (Tony had smirked. “ _Secure from everyone but **me**_ ”) that seem the least likely to be planted files or a diversion, trying to find connections where there might not be any and formulate a plan. Lukin’s threat still hasn’t come to fruition and Hydra’s been quiet, no activity, and it’s making it harder for Steve to come to any solid conclusions, at least solid enough to make a _move._ The pit in his gut that says something’s going to happen soon is making it harder to focus, and the lack of any near solid information isn't helping.

From what little Steve's interacted with the him, Lukin seems like both a patient and impatient man. It depends on how badly he wants James and Bucky back (but _not_ Bucky. Steve knows Lukin wouldn’t really have a ‘use’ for that side of him, which just makes him want to try and stop Lukin even more), but Steve doesn't know enough to gauge that.

“Steve.”

He doesn’t jump, but his eyes dart over from the holograms where he’d been staring, blinking hard, once, to clear his vision and find James standing near the end of the couch in a tank top (changed from Bucky’s long sleeve) and the same sweats that Bucky was wearing. Steve can’t help staring for a minute. “Yes?” he finally manages to ask, clearing his throat when it comes out a little rough.

James’ wings give a faint twitch, eyes dropping to his left hand briefly before holding it up, a hair tie held between his metal fingers. “Can you put my hair in a ‘bun’?” he asks, and Steve blinks, wings jerking slightly in surprise.

“A bun?” Steve asks.

James nods once and Steve glances at the maps again before letting out a quiet breath, putting on a slight smile and nodding. He’s been staring at the maps for...he lost track after three hours. “Sure,” he says.

James walks over, offering the hair tie when he stops a couple feet away. Steve takes it from him before James turns around, presenting his back to him.

The tank top shows nearly the full metal of his left arm and more scars than Steve’s been allowed to see since James was released from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s holding cell. Bucky doesn’t like showing the arm, or the scars, Steve knows, but James doesn’t often seem to care enough about either or clothing preferences to change into something else and hide them.

Steve’s eyes shift from the arm to the scars to the tank top to James’ wings, then to the hair tie between his fingers before they jump back up to the back of James’ head. He’s not sure if he shouldn’t look because Bucky would hate it or if he’s allowed to look because James doesn’t care.

He puts the hair tie between his lips and reaches forward with both hands to gently pull James’ hair back, collecting it all at the back of his neck. When he gets it all held in one hand, Steve pulls the tie out and starts to loop it around. His eyes drop to the tank top and sweats again briefly before looking back up.

“Do you want some different clothes?” he asks, focusing on the second loop of the ponytail. James’s wings stiffen briefly, but Steve waits.

He gets the bun finished before James says, “Maybe.”

It’s more firm than Steve thought it would be.

His lips curve up as he finishes the bun and pulls his hands back. James turns around.

His bangs still hang loose at the sides of his face, but even if they weren’t, with his hair pulled back like Bucky usually has it he somehow still manages to just exude _James_.

“It’s up to you,” Steve says, ‘evil Christmas’ of neon red and green hologram lights in his periphery.

James nods once after a minute and Steve nods back. James turns to the hologram. “The fifth location is a safehouse and supplies restock,” he says after a second of studying it, “The seventh location held data computers.”

Steve turns back to the holograms, focusing again, but not before nudging his wing into James’ right and smiling a little at the nudge he gets back. He appreciates the Hydra break, and the help.

“Do you know if they were from Kronas?” he asks, looking back over.

James studies the map for a few seconds before pointing to two locations. “These.”

Steve focuses back on the mission, and ignores the black crack he catches in white dye out of the corner of his eye.

\--

“Natasha.”

She looks up from the file she’s reading on her phone, making the screen go dark as Bucky moves closer. He stops next to a wall partition six feet away, close enough to talk but far enough to give him reaction time. She inclines her head slightly.

Bucky opens his mouth and then closes it, eyes dropping somewhere down and to the side for a moment as he composes himself.

She waits.

He looks back up to her, squaring his shoulders like he’s going to execution, body and wings tense. “I don’t...I don’t have words for what I did. To you,” he says firmly, “I don’t...There’s nothing I can do,” he adds softer, voice cracking. He doesn’t clear it. “But I can’t just let you kill me, either.”

She schools her expression further. “Then what are we to do?” Bucky shakes his head helplessly and she almost wants to take pity on him. She’s gotten a little bit soft.

She stands from the chair and he tenses briefly, at least until she turns and walks over to the wall of windows instead of to him. “Do you see all these people?” She asks after a moment, and hears his soft footsteps as he approaches; he doesn’t silence them.

“The people of New York?” he asks quietly when she doesn’t go on, stopping a foolish few feet away. If she wanted to, she could probably kill him. Maybe.

She nods slightly.

“They each hold a story, a book of their life. Some are mysteries, some are romance, some are tragedy,” she lists off. She sees his wings shift a little out of the corner of her eye. She lets her gaze drop down to one of the streets almost directly below. “Our stories are a little more, but in the end, they are no different.” She hears him pull in a louder breath.

“That doesn’t change what I did,” he says, quieter.

She hums softly. “No,” she agrees, “It doesn’t.” She glances over to see him frowning, a line between his brows.

She looks back out at the city.

“Whether it was you or someone else,” she says, “It would have happened.” She hears him blow out a breath.

It’s a few minutes before he says, soft and quiet, “I don’t think you’re that forgiving.”

She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes of her own, watching cars turn and weave, bicycles dart and stop, people mill and walk with purpose and not a care in the world.

She thinks of an arrow trained on her heart, of her calling Clint ‘Cupid’ after she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. because she heard he hated it. She remembers him retaliating by putting chocolate under her pillow on the floor. She hates chocolate.

She remembers men and women begging for their lives on the other end of her gun, lab coats and glasses and sweaty palms and faces, creators of a spider that caught them in her web.

She remembers being human, sometimes, but most of the time she remembers being a weapon. She tries to be human again, these days, tries to be something more than an urge in the middle of her chest telling her to move, act, do _something_.

She tries to remember her first urge to rile Clint, tries to let her memories of black feathers and harsh training in a red room lie where they fell, and tries to accept the horror in her dreams.

 _No_ , she thinks, she is not that forgiving.

But instead she says, “Sometimes, I think I want to be,” just as soft and just as quiet.

She finally looks over and he looks back, body all tense lines and wings unmoving, eyes shifting slightly as he looks between both of hers, over her wings in a flash to try and read everything she's not saying.

James would have been able to see, at least some of it, more than she would have liked.

He won’t be able to.

He doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t elaborate.

After a couple minutes he opens his mouth-

She’s flung to the side a fraction of a second before the sound of shattering glass and an explosion.

\--

The building shakes and the maps flicker out. Steve whips his head up, wings tensing as he listens.

Two floors up, large explosion, helicopters approaching, but still a ways off.

“JARVIS?” he tries.

He waits a few moments.

Nothing.

Steve grabs his shield and runs for the door, using the edge of it to wedge between the elevator doors and pry them open, scanning down and then up.

\--

Her lungs force out a cough and her wings give a sharp jolt, pain shooting up the left. She holds in a groan that comes muffled to her own ears amidst the ringing in them and blinks her eyes open against the cloud of plaster and cement nearly settled.

“Bucky?” she coughs out, voice reaching her ears a little better as she pushes herself up and eases the pressure on her left wing.

There’s rubble and glass everywhere and wind whipping near the huge half circle _hole_ in the wall-

No. It’s just the top of it.

Something punches through the pile of rubble at her right and her head snaps around. The metal’s dust covered and dull in the light, but she can tell it’s a hand.

The rubble shifts and topples and Bucky pushes himself up out of it, rising like a stone gargoyle come to life. His wings seem to have gotten out of the blast undamaged, but there's blood sliding down one side of his face and out of the corner of his mouth, hair half out of its ponytail, wings dusted and body covered in debris dirt. There’s the sound of boots thumping a way off and metal turning and her eyes widen as she jerks her head back towards the hole, two men in black standing just inside the room with rope around their middles and-

She pushes herself up and her and Bucky move at the same time, leaping behind the rubble just in time and rolling into the kitchen as the gatling gun starts to fire. His metal arm comes around in front of her face and blocks the first bullet to pierce through the kitchen cupboards and two wall partitions and they move. She pulls her guns out and fires back.

The trajectory of the bullets aimed at them changes and she hears bootsteps running, and she has just enough time to send a glance to Buck-

She freezes.

“James?” she asks.

His eyes drop to hers, cold and hot and achingly familiar, and then he’s running out from behind her, ripping off one of the locked elevator doors with his left hand as he goes before putting his arm in front of himself and crashing through a window, wings spreading wide as he dives down and disappears.

She checks the men’s positions before firing off a few rounds while she darts for the gap in the elevator.

\--

Helicopters, four of them, armed and heading from the East, using the sun to mask their presence for as long as possible.

He gets a quick a glance at them before he’s swooping down into the middle of thirty foot hole blown into the side of the Tower, two more black figures heading into the middle room.

He dives in, clotheslining the back of one with his left arm while he does the same to the other with his right wing, knocking out the first and bracing his hands on the floor to swing a leg over and kick his foot across the face of the second that's dropped to his knees.

They’re both down and he runs to the room’s door, prying the elevator doors open beyond it and scanning up and then down before jumping inside, catching the cables in the middle before he starts pulling himself up.

He needs to find Steve.

\--

Steve pries the elevator doors open a fraction at Tony’s lab and peers into the room to make sure that it's empty before getting them open wide enough to slip inside. He keeps his eyes trained for Tony as he walks further in, eyes drawn to the portion of the huge a hole in the side of the building that must be the result of the explosion, wind whipping in and past the room.

There’s no sign of Tony anywhere, but seeing as it _is_ his lab, he could have headed outside to investi-

Black drops down through the hole and Steve raises his shield as he ducks around one of Tony’s metal work tables, just barely blocking bullet fire. He tries to catch a glance around his shield, but he can’t spot an insignia on the uniforms.

Still, it’s Lukin and Hydra. _Has_ to be.

He’s just about to charge the two of them when something catches light in his periphery and he looks-

James lowers his head slightly, eyes on Steve, before tilting it fractionally towards the two men, raising his left fist while he grips the cables in the middle of the elevator shaft with his right.

Steve blinks away his surprise and refocuses, nodding once, quick before rounding the work table and charging for the shooters, drawing the gunfire to him while he feels James shadow him. Steve jerks a wing slightly right just before he shoves his shield into the man on the left, feeling the air displacement before seeing James punch the one on the right with his metal fist. They both go down in one hit and Steve lowers his shield as he looks over to him.

“We need to find Tony and Natasha,” Steve says. James inclines his head slightly.

“Natalia is three floors up. I don’t know where Stark is,” he answers.

“Right,” Steve replies, “We should-”

“Go,” a voice cuts him off, and Steve whips his head up in time to watch Natasha swoop into the room, balance off a little on the right as she lands inside through the huge hole in the building.

“But we can’t just leave,” Steve insists.

“They’re after James and Bucky, not us,” she counters. Steve’s lips press in a firm line. He knows she's right. “Do you have somewhere you can go?”

Steve flattens his lips a little more and glances at James, looking back to Natasha after a moment. “More are coming. I should-

“Stark and I will handle this,” she cuts him off again, darting a look over her shoulder before looking back to Steve then James. “Do you have a place you can go,” she repeats. James takes a moment before nodding and Natasha nods back before looking back out the hole over her shoulder. There’s helicopters coming, four of them. Armed. “Then leave now,” she says, looking back to James and then to Steve, “After I’ve caused enough of a diversion.”

Steve’s mouth pinches and he looks over at James, but James’ expression is closed off in some sort of battle mode and he’s not insisting they stay. Still-

“Steve,” Natasha says, and Steve focuses back on her.

She’s looking at him, attention focused, right wing resting a little lower than the left and covered in dust.

Steve presses his lips together a little more and nods once. She inclines her head slightly and they watch her turn for the hole in the side of the building.

“You betray him, I will kill you,” she states calmly. Steve’s wings stiffen but James just looks at her for a moment before nodding again. She nods back and then looks to Steve. “We’ll get in touch later.”

“Be careful,” Steve says. Natasha’s lips curve up and then she’s launching herself out of the hole in the wall, guns drawn as she heads for the helicopters.

Steve watches her for a minute, waits until the helicopters are busy and distracted in trying to shoot her out of the sky before looking back over at James. “You ready?” he asks.

James nods and Steve walks the rest of the way to the hole, looking at Natasha one more time before letting himself fall forward and out, spreading his wings wide on an updraft and letting it curve him around the lower half of the Tower into the rest of the city. He hears wing beats follow close behind a moment later and his ears just barely pick up the sound of Tony’s repulsors in the distance before they turn around another building.

\--

The house isn’t too hard to find, unsurprisingly, and it’s twilight by the time they get there. He might not even be home, but-

But they don’t have a whole lot of options right now.

Steve knocks on the door.

The slider door opens a minute later and gunmetal wings flare in surprise. “Hey, man,” Sam says, eyes darting between the two of them.

“I’m sorry about this,” Steve says first, “We didn’t have any other place to go.”

Sam looks between him and James for a few more seconds, takes in the dirt and debris and the weary expressions and says, “Come in,” and steps aside.

Steve can’t begin to word how grateful he is and walks in, the sound of the slider door closing behind James as they step into Sam’s house.

“I’ll go get you guys some-” Sam cuts off, and Steve looked up to find Sam staring at him, just off to his side. Steve turns his head to follow his gaze and his whole body freezes, wings stiffening.

The dye. He knew it already, but- Someone who isn't Bucky or James seeing it still-

“Clothes,” Sam says, clearing his throat. Steve slowly turns his head around just enough to look at him. Sam looks back for a long moment before nodding once to himself and repeating more firmly, “Clothes. I’ll be right back.”

And then he’s walking down the hall between the kitchen and the dining room.

Steve swallows, staring after him for a moment before looking back at his wing.

Something nudges his calf and he looks down, tracing a long white feather up to James’ face. His expression is a little soft and unreadable all at once. Steve tries to smile but can only get his lips to twitch.

Sam comes back a minute later and saves him from having to say anything, though his stomach is still doing its best to twist itself up in knots.

Sam pauses a few feet away for a moment before holding up the stack of clothes in his hands, one towards Steve and the other towards James. “Here,” he says, “Bathroom’s back that way down the hall.” He points towards the hall he just came from after they take the clothes and Steve nods.

“Thank you,” he says, meaning it. Sam just nods back, smiling at him and James before heading for the kitchen.

It’s James who moves first and Steve follows, but Steve gets the impression James is doing it more as a lookout than out of any desire to actually clean himself off.

The guest bathroom is in a door off to the right. James walks in and Steve stops in the hall, ready to wait his turn, but James turns and looks at him for a long moment and Steve lets his shoulders and wings drop a little as he glances back down the hall. There’s no sign of Sam, and even if there was, Steve would walk in anyway.

He looks forward and does, closing the door behind himself.

James sets his clothes next to the sink and Steve mirrors him, setting his shield down against the sink cupboards. He looks up when James makes no move to shower or change.

“Do you want me to leave?” James asks quietly. Steve blinks, letting out a breath when he understands.

He shakes his head, managing to smile a little this time. “No,” he says, “I’d like it if you stayed.”

James looks at him for another long moment, searching, before reaching to his side and undoing the clasps on the side of his shirt, sliding it off and setting it over the side of the sink. Steve keeps his eyes on James’ face, breathing picked up a little and wings slightly tensed.

“I won’t touch you,” James says, and Steve lets out another breath, hating himself for it the whole time.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, but James just shakes his head, wings twitching once.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says simply. Steve swallows. “We should move quickly,” James says, and Steve darts his eyes back up from where they’d wandered to the sink.

“Why?” he asks.

James’ mouth pinches slightly, eyes looking to the side wall that separates them from the side of the house they came in. “Hydra had us under observation,” he says a little lower, eyes darting to Steve’s after a moment. Steve’s eyes widen, darting towards the wall and then back to James, narrowing a little.

“Which means they could have been watching Sam, too,” he finishes the thought. James just looks at him and Steve closes his eyes with a sigh. “Right,” he says, opening them back up. He makes quick work of his own clothes, trying to ignore the tightening in his gut, eyes darting now and then to the flecks of white he catches flaking off out of the corners of his eyes. He moves around James towards the shower. “Come with me,” he suggests, even though part of him is still resisting, “We need to be cleared out in five minutes. It'll be faster if we share.” He doesn’t hear James move, but as soon as he’s gotten the shower started James is there at his side, stepping in after he does.

They wash themselves quickly, clinically, Steve passing the soap as he moves under the spray to rinse himself off, keeping his back to James and his wings close, even though he knows James won’t do anything. James isn’t like that. James isn’t like Rumlow.

He steps out, dries off and dresses fast, cringing a little as he gets a good look at his wings.

They’re spotty looking, in no sense of pattern, just...It reminds him of a black and white, splotchy cow.

He snorts a laugh, even though it’s not exactly funny, which is exactly why it is. James tilts his head slightly as he pulls on a pair of pants and Steve just shakes his head, finishing the last clasp on his borrowed shirt.

They leave their old clothes and Steve's phone in the bathroom and Steve grabs his shield as they head down the hall, shirt a little tight and pants a little loose, but, well.

Sam is easy to spot where he’s standing in the kitchen, making breakfast. “You guys hungry?” he asks as they step into the room, but after getting a look at their faces he stops, turning the stove off after a moment. “You need to go,” he susses out. Steve frowns slightly.

“You should probably come with us,” he says, and Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. Steve can see his eyes shift to James, then back to Steve’s, a little wider.

Sam lets out a breath. “What kind of trouble is it and where are we going?” he asks, already moving for the hall.

“Hydra,” Steve says, louder so Sam can hear him as he heads towards a room, “And I don’t know yet. Maybe out of the states. You won’t have to come with us the whole way, just...enough to get off of their radar.”

“ _So I should probably pack a bag, huh?_ ” Sam calls back.

“I don’t think we have ti-” Steve starts.

“Steve,” James cuts him off, voice low and immediate. Steve looks over to see his eyes off to the side.

Steve follows his gaze and catches the tail end of a shadow moving out of frame of one of the window’s blinds. Steve tenses, looking to check the other windows.

Sam comes back with a bag in hand, quickly picking up on the tension and glancing around. “We got company?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, just as quiet, angling his shield towards the direction of the slider door.

“How many?” Sam asks, voice hushed.

“Nine,” James is the one to reply, reaching over Sam’s counter to grab two knives.

“Guess it’s a good thing I brought this then,” Sam says, pulling a knife of his own out of his bag. Steve glances at him, eyes returning to the slider door. “Think we can make the door?” Sam asks.

Steve’s about to reply before he catches James shaking his head slightly, just enough for them to know. “Second window on the left has the least coverage.”

“Alright,” Steve says, “Everyone aim for the second window on the left when we get out.”

“Yessir,” James replies-

**_Wait._ **

“Steve,” Bucky says. Steve looks over to find Bucky staring down at the knives in his hands, eyes darting up to him. “ ** _Shit_** ,” Bucky curses emphatically, and then the slider door is being kicked in, glass shattering and cascading to the wood floor while the front door is kicked open. Steve pulls up his shield, just barely blocking gunfire, and tries to aim it so it covers Bucky and Sam too.

Something must kick in for Bucky because he starts fighting right away, sticking to and guarding Steve’s six like they’re back in the trenches. He doesn’t move like James does, either. Just like his flying, Bucky’s all curves and arcs, rough but graceful twists and turns in their own way while also being brutal. But for a moment, Steve can see it, the Winter Soldier muscle memory that Bucky was talking about, but then Steve has to focus back on the three agents trying to shoot him in the face. He gets charged by all three at once and ends up with his back rammed into the fridge with the unexpected force catching him off balance, two of the agents reaching for a gun and a knife.

“ _You killed Rumlow_ ,” the one on the right grits out. Steve grunts and shifts his foot to try and get a better stabilized stance.

“No, that was me,” Bucky half growls, coming up behind the one on the right and stabbing him in the shoulder with a knife. The guy lets out a yell and the force against Steve shifts, lets up just enough for him to push them all _back_ , Bucky just barely managing to get out of the way in time. Steve catches Sam taking on two out of the corner of his eye with a gun stolen from one of the agents strapped over his shoulder and Steve nods to Bucky while running for the three agents he'd shoved getting up off of the floor. Bucky darts over to help Sam while Steve knocks the three out with his shield. He hears more thuds and turns around.

“So,” Sam says, breathing heavy, “This what our trip is gonna be like?”

Bucky huffs out a breath and shakes his hair out of his face, both of them looking to Steve.

There's nine bodies around them. Steve's not sure if they're breathing (isn't sure if he should check. They're Hydra, sent by Lukin to 'retrieve' their 'toy'. To get Bucky. James. Steve might kill them if they're _not_ already dead).

Steve takes a slow breath and nods towards the window. “Let’s go,” he says, leading the way. Sam straps his bag on his back and Bucky follows in step right behind Steve, hopping out of the window directly after him.

\--

They stick to shadows and backstreets and alleys as they head to the more abandoned part of the city, trying to keep Steve’s spotted wings out of sight. They dart past a few people, but the coloring of his wings at a bit of distance makes them look spotted and not like they're flaking, and they keep their turns as random as possible to avoid being predictable in case they _do_ end up being followed.

They manage to find a mostly abandoned building to stay in for the night just as night hits.

“So, I take it you’re Bucky now,” Sam says. The apartment they’ve chosen doesn’t have a door and its two windows are boarded up. It’ll do.

Bucky grunts, eyes scanning the apartment as he pulls his hair back off of his neck, holding it there with a hand for lack of a hair tie. “Yeah,” he says.

Sam nods and turns to Steve, and Steve can see his eyes darting over his wings briefly before focusing back on his face.

“Is it gonna be a _problem?_ ” Bucky demands more than asks, catching the look.

Sam looks to him and shakes his head. “No, it’s not.” Bucky holds his stare for a tense moment before shifting his attention to Steve.

“Okay,” he says, “What the fuck is going on? They actually _attack the Tower?_ ”

Steve sighs and nods, taking a seat on the floor since there aren’t any chairs. Bucky takes a moment before joining him, Sam soon following suit.

“Yeah,” Steve says, “Blew a thirty foot hole in the side of the building. We had to move and didn’t really have anywhere to go, until I remembered Sam.” Steve looks at him and Sam’s lips curve up. Steve smiles gratefully for a moment before looking back at Bucky. “But James pieced together Hydra was probably watching Sam since they were watching the three of us, and we were about to leave when they showed up, which is when you appeared.”

Bucky leans back on his hands, letting his hair fall where it may. His eyes flick around the room again before focusing back on Steve. “Did our _third wheel_  happen to give any _suggestions_ on what we should do now?” he asks a little flatly, raising an eyebrow. Steve gives him a _look_ and Bucky's wings shrug.

“No,” Steve answers, “We didn’t have time.”

“What about Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff?” Sam asks. They both look at him.

“Natasha said we’d meet up later, but she didn’t give me a timetable,” Steve replies, “I’m not sure about Tony, but he’s probably either with her or in communication with her. Hopefully.”

“We could head to Germany,” Bucky says after a few moments, “‘Take the fight to them’.”

Sam blows out a breath. “Us and what army?”

Bucky looks over at him and smirks. “Well, technically Stevie and I _each **count**_ as one army-”

“We should ask James,” Steve interrupts. Bucky looks back to him and Steve holds his stare. “He might know something we don’t, and he might have a better idea about what to do in the mean time. He’s been to Germany more recently, too, and...he might be able to tell us more about Lukin.”

Bucky stares at him for a minute more before glancing off to the side in thought. He pulls a knife out of his boot (that Steve _hadn’t_ _noticed_ ) and Steve darts a hand forward to grab his wrist. Bucky’s eyes dart up.

“Isn’t there another way?” Steve asks, “Something that _won’t_ hurt you?” He catches Sam's wings shifting uneasily out of the corner of his eye and ignores it for now.

Bucky drops his eyes to the knife. “We haven’t found anything that will trigger him that I can get a hold of.”

“So there’s _nothing?_ ” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs his wings in a slightly jerky motion and starts to pull his wrist out of Steve’s grip, and Steve makes a quick decision, moving forward and yanking Bucky closer as he does.

It’s weird.

Kissing Bucky is _not_ like kissing James.

Bucky makes a surprised, strangled noise in the back of his throat, yanking back after a moment. “This is not _Sleeping Beauty_ , for _fuck’s sake Steve_ ,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. For all that Sam looks a little exhausted and cautious, he snorts a laugh at that.

“Just try it again,” Steve insists. Bucky frowns a little at him and Steve shifts his wings once. “Please?”

Bucky stares at him for a minute before letting out a long suffering sigh, tucking the knife back into his boot and closing his eyes tightly for a moment, leaning his head back. He leans forward and reaches blindly with his right hand, grabbing a hold of Steve’s shirt and pulling him in, their lips pressing together surprisingly soft this time.

Steve sees gray shift out of the corner of his eye again and he sees Bucky keeping his eyes forcefully closed right in front of him, almost too close to focus on anything, and Steve closes his own, trying to ignore the _weird_ and focus instead on _the kiss_. If he can just-

He changes the angle a little and Bucky accommodates, the kiss slow and practiced, and Steve gets the feeling that this is how Bucky used to kiss girls back before the war (and isn’t _that_ a weird thought). He’d rather not kiss Bucky at all, let alone have Bucky pretend Steve’s one of the girls he-

The kiss shifts, somehow; changes. Steve’s not sure how he can tell, but he can.

The warm hand on the side of his neck moves back, fingers sliding up into the edge of his hair as it pulls him closer, the kiss going almost imperceptibly smoother and harder all at once. The edge of a tongue gently swipes up his lower lip and Steve’s breath catches. Steve pulls back, opening his eyes-

Bucky opens his own eyes and it's James that stares back, the edges of the fingers in Steve’s hair gently rubbing over his skin in small movements after a moment.

“It worked,” Steve breathes. James stares at him, eyes a little wider.

Steve’s trying to get his brain to work, say something, they have to talk about Luki-

James pulls him in again and Steve lets out a small, surprised sound, but doesn’t pull away, lets his eyes slip closed again as their lips meet. The angle changes after a moment and their tongues brush-

A throat clears. Steve pulls back and looks over.

Sam’s staring at them both with slightly raised eyebrows.

“I take it that worked,” Sam states, a little deadpan. Steve bites the inside of his lip briefly to keep in a smile and nods.

James’ fingers are still massaging his skin and it’s distracting, so Steve sits back far enough that they slide out, James’ fingers sliding off of him altogether. James’ wings twitch towards him but don’t move any further and Steve lets himself smile a little, angling his own feathers a little towards James. James licks his lower lip quick and Steve’s eyes dart down to it briefly.

Sam clears his throat again and Steve blinks, sitting up straighter. “Do you have any ideas on what we should do next?” he asks, looking back over to James.

James glances down in thought. “Surveillance,” he says, looking back up, “If Stark can’t, we'll need to go to Russia.”

Sam sits up a little straighter. "I don't think my flyer's miles are going to cover that.

"It's a good thing we won't be flying then," James counters.

Sam's face scrunches up a bit and Steve's lips pinch.


	23. This is war

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo. I spilt water on the laptop and can't use the keys e and t without the online keyboard. Steve’s name is 99% e and t. So it's a real hassle. And I can't see about fixing my old one until like. January/February, so I'm trying to write on my tablet. With the onscreen keyboard. That takes up most of the screen and I keep hitting a few keys trying to type normal and fast almost every time that aren't the ones I'm trying to hit. Fkfkfkfkfkfl.

Steve’s not sure how to get a hold of Natasha, but he _is_ sure that if she plans on getting a hold of him, it’ll be soon, and he’ll notice it. And even if he doesn’t, James most likely will, so he's not too worried about missing it.

He looks between two wood slats boarding up one of the windows and tries to scan what he can of the street and buildings outside, the sun starting to sink and turning everything purple and gold-orange. He kind of wants to paint it.

“See anything?”

Steve doesn’t jump, but he does pull back from the window and turn a little to look at Sam, shaking his head slightly in the negative. He shifts his gaze to behind Sam’s shoulder for a moment where James is currently doing his fifth set of one armed pushups, catching his eyes briefly to let him know the same before looking back at Sam.

Sam’s eyes are on his wings and they stiffen slightly. Sam shifts his gaze back to Steve’s.

“I’m going to show you something,” he says, walking over to the bag he’d packed that’s sitting against a wall, crouching down and unzipping it before pulling something out and walking back over to Steve.

He hands Steve a file.

Steve takes it, reads over the ‘ _EXO-7_ ’ on the front and flips it open-

Then _freezes_.

He feels eyes on him then, a prickle scanning over him, and he shakes his wings out a little in James direction to let him know that he’s fine.

“Who is this?” Steve asks.

“My wingman, Riley,” Sam replies, tone…

Oh.

Steve doesn’t say anything, doesn’t say that he’s sorry for Sam's loss or that he wishes things were different. He’s had those said to him enough and they _never_ made him feel any better.

“This is why you took it so well,” he says instead, looking up.

Sam just smiles a little, arms crossed over his chest. “I’d take it well anyway, but yeah, this is why I didn’t freak on you at all.”

Steve looks back down at the picture, eyes going over the black feathers. He flips the photo over after a moment to get a look at the pages under it, eyebrows rising a bit. “I thought you said you were a pilot,” he says, looking back up.

Sam's smile widens a bit. “I never said pilot.”

Steve looks back down, eyes running over machine specs and mission information. He looks back up again.

“Sam,” he starts, and Sam’s smile eases down a bit, “You don’t have to come with us. I should have said it sooner, but you don’t. This isn’t your fight.”

Sam shakes his head a little, shaking his wings out. “Hey,” he says, “Captain America needs my help. There’s no better reason to get back in.”

Steve holds his breath for a moment before letting it out slow, glancing back down at the page. “Any idea where we can get one of these?” he asks, gesturing with the open folder

“The last one’s at Fort Meade,” Sam replies, “Behind three guarded gates and a twelve-inch steel wall.”

Steve feels a feather brush his and manages not to jump, holding the file a little to the right so that James can get a better look. Steve looks over at him.

James’ eyes scan over the page quickly, looking up at Steve after with a shrug of his wings. “Level Two,” he says.

“What?” Sam asks. He and Steve both look over, Sam’s brow raised at James.

“Easy,” James translates, letting his feathers brush Steve’s again as he turns to head back to the other side of the room to finish his workout.

Steve watches him for a moment before looking back to Sam, smiling a little with a small shrug of his wings. “Shouldn’t be a problem,” he says.

\--

They don't have to wait long for a development. The next evening, Natasha finds them. Steve’s not sure how, but there's a knock at their front door doorframe.

Steve moves in first, shield on his forearm and James and Sam at his back right and left flanks. When he peers around the corner and sees a woman with a blonde bob, blonde wings, and giant sunglasses, it only takes a second for it to click and then he's snorting, flicking a wing back to signal James and Sam that it's clear before stepping out from behind the wall.

"Interesting color choice," he says after she's stepped inside. She turns around and lowers her sunglasses enough to stare at him over the tops. "I like it. Miss the red though," he teases, wings fluttering a little playfully. Natasha quirks a brow, and Steve sees her eyes dart over his wings while her eyes widen a little above her sunglasses. Steve goes still, breath quiet.

James and Sam have been fine with it, and for a day he forgot that not everyone else would be.

She stares at them for a moment, at the rapidly decreasing white and the ever encroaching black, dragging them back to his face while reaching up to pull the sunglasses off. "I think I prefer your new color," she says, pulling a phone out of her pocket, "It suits you."

Steve tenses more but then relaxes a little when she quirks her lips. She holds the phone out after a moment.

"One of Stark's," she says, "Untraceable."

Steve takes it, looking it over briefly before turning it on, one of James' feathers brushing his own as he examines it over Steve’s shoulder. "Can Stark run surveillance on Lukin?" Steve asks, looking back up.

Natasha makes a small humming sound, glancing at the phone. "The virus that shut down the Tower wasn't an isolated attack," she says, looking back up at him, "It didn't stick to the Tower servers; it infected every location JARVIS was active in. Stark is still working on getting it back up and running." Steve winces in sympathy.

"Russia it is then," Sam speaks up. Steve looks over to see his arms crossed again and a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Natasha asks, but when Steve looks over she's looking at James.

James stares back, unblinking and unmoving for a few moments before he says, quiet, "There is no other option."

Natasha holds his stare for a moment before shifting her gaze to Sam and then to Steve. "I'll get you some supplies," she says, "I'll leave them behind the third large dumpster in the alley two blocks left from here. Mine, Clint, and Stark's numbers are already programmed into the phone."

Steve nods. "Thank you, Tasha," he says, and means for much more than just the help.

She inclines her head with another quirk of her lips, turning. "James, walk me to the door," she says. Steve glances at James who looks back before he follows her.

Steve turns and heads further into the room to try and give them both some privacy (and take away some of the temptation to listen in). He catches Sam glancing towards them then him before following him.

\--

James follows Natalia the short distance to the front doorframe, listens to Steve’s steps retreat and then quiet talking between him and Sam, tones casual and relaxed.

He's not sure he wants to talk to Natalia, isn't sure he doesn't want Steve listening in. Before, he would have minded, but now?

He keeps silent as Natasha turns at the doorframe to look at him, his eyes going back over the blonde of her wig and dyed wings. It pulls up a few memories, but he refuses to look at them any closer. He already knows what they are and when they're from.

"Are you prepared?" she asks him. James inclines his head slightly.

"It doesn't matter," he answers. She raises an eyebrow. "It has to be done."

"And if it comes to one or the other?" she asks next, keeping her questions purposefully vague. James keeps his wings from jerking. She's watching him closely. "Are you ready to make that choice? Conditioning doesn't just go away."

James' eyes dart towards further inside the apartment, Steve’s voice still casual and a comfort in his ears. He looks back to her, standing up straighter.

"I will do what I must," he states.

She stares at him for a minute, and he doesn't have to know her as well as he does to know that she's unsatisfied with that answer, but she inclines her head slightly and turns to go without another word.

He watches her go for a moment and then walks back into the room. Steve pauses his conversation with Sam and looks up at him, smiling a little.

James' lips twitch up back.

\--

There’s a worn backpack behind a dumpster three alleys away, just like Natalia said there would be, and when they get it open it has a few guns and knives and cartridges, a few passports and IDs and cash, and two cans of dye. James shows Steve and Steve frowns at them, hesitant, but nods, and then they head out to a motel.

\--

Steve stares at himself in the mirror for a few minutes, looking over his wings before he turns and opens the bathroom door.

"I see Natasha's sense of humor."

Steve pauses, eyes jumping up to Bucky's.

Bucky's leaning on his right shoulder against the closest wall, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

Steve shakes his red wings out.

"It's payback," Steve says, stepping out. Bucky raises an eyebrow. Steve sighs a little. "She showed up blonde yesterday and I told her I missed the red."

Bucky laughs, actually _laughs_ , and Steve can't help smiling. Sam leans around the corner.

"So he _can_ laugh," Sam teases, and Bucky flicks a wing in his direction. Sam grins a little.

"You ready to go?" Steve asks.

Both sam and Bucky nod, and Steve grabs his hat off of the sink counter, putting it on.

"I am _not_ looking forward to hours of a flight with little kids and paranoia that we're going to get caught, though," Sam says.

"Good thing we aren't flying then," Bucky returns, lips pulling up on one side in a smirk.

Sam’s brows furrow, wings shifting. "I thought he was joking," he says, "How are we getting there, then?"

\--

"This is _so_ much worse," Sam whispers over to him.

Steve relaxes his grip on the railing, eyes darting around at the other passengers. His shield's in a large bag hanging on his shoulder, stuffed with a few pieces of clothing he had to steal off of a clothesline in New York to distort the obvious shape. It's a comfort, having it while they're surrounded by all of these milling about, moving people.

"It could be worse," Steve says.

Sam's eyebrows climb up his forehead beneath his hat. " _How_ could this be worse?"

" _Clearly_ you don't know Natasha's sense of humor all that well," Bucky adds in, looking over at Sam, " _Trust_ me, this could be worse. We could be on a cruise liner with _thousands_ of people instead of hundreds." Sam opens his mouth and Bucky adds in, half grumbling, "And knowing her, it'd be a _Disney_ one packed with screaming children."

Sam huffs a breath, glancing around at the other passengers milling about before looking out at the water churning down by the propellers. "Remind me to never give her reason to make it a serious goal to make my life hell."

Steve smiles, glancing at Sam before looking over at Bucky.

He hears metal creak quietly and drops his eyes, Bucky's flesh hand in a white knuckled grip and metal one on the verge of denting the railing. He looks up and Bucky’s staring down at the water, face a little pale.

Steve glances down as well, forcing himself to swallow down the urge to panic. He reaches over and sets his hand over Bucky's flesh one, gripping it.

He sees Bucky lift his head up out of the corner of his eye and takes a moment before looking over.

Bucky's still looking pale, and Steve feels Sam angle himself away a little but brush a feather against one of his. Steve appreciates it.

"My body's fine for the most part," Bucky says quietly, looking out across the water, "I guess they trained it out of him," he adds a little bitterly with an unpleasant twist to his lips, "But the rest of me..." He sighs, turning his hand in Steve's to grip it.

Steve grips Bucky's back, looking out across the water with him. "Yeah," he says, "Me too."

Bucky tightens his grip on Steve’s hand and not the railing.

\--

They stop off in Europe first, make their way with the few tourists traveling out of season and relatives visiting their families for the holidays.

Steve hadn’t even noticed it was getting to be that time of the year.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," he says when he realizes it, but Sam just smiles over at him, a quiet thing.

"Nah, it's fine," he replies, "I told them I'd definitely be there _next_ Thanksgiving."

Bucky's mouth pinches on Steve’s other side and Steve’s pretty sure he's making the same expression because Sam just laughs at them both.

There’s already snow and slush on the ground, and even though he and Bucky don't need them, James steals the three of them heavier coats. Russia is going to be colder, so Sam will need one, and it would look strange if he and James didn’t.

\--

Steve buys their train tickets, and James takes over again when it's time to board, Bucky's anxious and nervous expression evening out into one of controlled calm.

James lets Steve hold his hand when they get to their seats and sit, and threads their fingers together when Steve takes a slow, deep breath when the train starts moving.

Sam turns his eyes out the window and Steve squeezes James' hand when they start picking up speed.

James squeezes his back.

\--

"You alright, man?" Sam asks when they get off in Zurich to switch trains, and Steve nods, blowing out a breath. He's gotten better with trains, but they're still...

"Are you okay?" Steve asks quietly, turning to James.

James looks back, fingers still laced with his. "Yes," he returns, just as quiet.

Steve nods, the three of them moving to the ticket booth.

\--

They use the last of the money they had on them, separate from what Natasha gave them, to pay for a room when they get to Russia, some out of the way place with paper bags blowing in the wind along the snow covered sidewalk and old fences that look on the verge of collapse. James pays for the room with only a muttered word in Russian and then he's leading the way up a set of ancient looking stairs.

"So this is Mother Russia," Sam says from the side of the only window their rented room has, looking from around the windowsill but staying mostly out of sight.

It's a literal winter wonderland outside, buildings far older than even Steve and Bucky _combined_ covered in white.

James spares Sam a brief glance as he finishes checking the room.

"It's about as cold and beautiful as I thought it would be," Sam continues, bringing his hands up to blow heat on them, rubbing them together as he turns away from the window.

"It will get colder," James says, finishing his check.

Steve glances over at him before pulling out a Moscow map he snagged along the way. "Kronas Corp is located here," he says, pointing to the center of the map after laying it out on the tiny round table in the far corner next to the window, "We'll need to move at night, with more weaponry than we currently have."

James lifts his head a little. "I know of some places."

"So how do we want to do this?" Sam asks, looking up at Steve, "Use Lukin as leverage?"

Steve bites his inner lower lip in thought, staring down at the map.

"He should not live," James says after a few moments. Steve and Sam look over. James looks up from the map, wings completely still. "He is dangerous."

It's quiet for a minute before Sam says, gentle, "I know he did some awful things to you, but are you sure that's not revenge talking?"

James shifts his gaze to Sam, the room taking on the kind of stillness that has Steve standing a little straighter and Sam shifting his stance into something subtly more defensive.

"A weapon is nothing without the finger to pull the trigger," James says, "If I did what I've done only as the gun..." he trails off, letting Sam think. Because Steve already knows.

Sam looks at him for a moment before glancing down at the map, bringing a hand up to wipe briefly over his mouth. "Then he came up with the mission targets and pulled the trigger. I get that. But does that mean that we kill him or take him in?" he asks, looking back up.

"To who?" Steve asks quietly, drawing both of their eyes to him, "S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone, the police aren't enough, and Hydra might be in the government. We have nowhere to take him."

"Are you sure that's it?" Sam asks. Steve looks up. "I don't know everything, but I can make a few guesses by some of what I've seen." He glances over at James briefly before looking back to Steve. "You can't stand there and tell me you don’t want to tear the man apart. Either of you," he adds, eyes glancing between Steve and James and back again.

Steve feels eyes on him again from James' direction but keeps his eyes on Sam. "I do," he admits. James' wings shift slightly out of the corner of his eye. "But that doesn’t change the fact that we have nowhere to take him, and I doubt he'll talk willingly about what Hydra is up to."

"Meaning..." Sam's eyes widen. "Torture? _Steve_. You can't-"

"I've had to before," Steve says, lower, effectively cutting Sam off, "Back during the war." He sighs. "I don't want to, but _this **is**_ war." A feather brushes his after a moment of tense silence and he jumps a little, eyes darting over.

James stares back, closer now, and Steve pulls in a breath.

He looks back over to Sam, at the pinched expression and line between his brows, looking like he’s just found one more reason to be let down by his own government.

Steve knows the feeling.

"Look," Sam starts, wings shifting once, "He might tell us what we need to know without having to go that far, but if it gets to that point-"

"I will take care of it," Steve says firmly, cutting off Sam and heading off James, who's moved a little closer. "You shouldn't have to do that, Sam," he turns his head to look at James, "And you've been through enough," he adds a little softer.

James stares back. "I am not fragile," he states, wings stiffening slightly.

Steve shakes his head. "I know you're not, and that's not why I'm doing it," he says, continuing softer, "You don’t have to be fragile for me to want to take some of the weight or try to protect you."

James' eyes widen a little and Steve smiles softly, clearing it as he looks back to Sam, who's still watching him. "If I don’t have to I won't, but if I do, I will."

Sam stares at him for a long minute before finally conceding with a nod and a sigh, shaking his head after.

Steve looks back over to James when he feels fingers lace through his and almost wants to look away at what he sees on James' face.

(Because James is looking at him like he’s found something so very important).

\--

They catch Bucky up to speed when it's his turn, but still aren't sure how get James to switch back so they have to wait for it to happen.

Bucky doesn’t like the idea of torture, much less of _Steve_ doing it (again) any more than Sam does, but Steve drives his point home and Bucky relents (for the time being).

They watch Kronas Corp for three days before finally making their move under the cover of night (and just in time. The two layers of dye are starting to crack and fade, red to the white underneath to the black further down). James, reluctantly, stays on the rooftop across the street with a rifle while Sam and Steve both enter from the side, disabling the door's security. Sam whistles softly.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" he near whispers.

Steve puts the front of the metal card reader back in place over the back half, finger dents in the sides. He flashes a grin while pulling the door open. "Hawkeye," he near whispers back, slipping inside.

They make their way quietly down the dark hall and Steve stops to stare down the one to the left when they reach a break, the black walls and shiny black floor and dim glow of the backlit, colored, floor to ceiling windows the same as the last time he was here. The first time he found and fought Bucky ( _James, The Winter Soldier_ ).

Sam’s wing nudges his in question and Steve shakes his own out briefly before he keeps going, turning right this time instead.

They find the stairwell and take it up to the fortieth floor, Steve not tiring when they get there and Sam a bit out of breath. They both wait until he’s got it back, ears straining to listen, before opening the door slightly, making sure that it's clear before stepping out into the hall.

Steve pauses halfway down, shield on his back, and listens.

It's quiet.

He doesn’t trust it.

He sends a look over to Sam who lowers his head slightly in agreement, and they cautiously keep moving. James should be able to see them through the windows, so even if they don't have ear comms he should be able to watch their back, Bucky too if they end up switching. There doesn't seem to be an order or set time for it happening other than Bucky or James being triggered.

Steve and Sam both stop in front of the double doors to Lukin's office, listening.

His car is still in the parking garage and none of them saw him leave.

Steve slowly pulls his shield off of his back and looks to Sam, who nods, gun drawn. Steve turns back around and carefully opens one of the doors.

It's as darkly lit as the hallways, and Steve listens intently as they both step inside, but he hears the third heartbeat too late-

He's not expecting the dart to the neck, vision quickly going black as gunmetal gray flares up in his periphery and he hears a muddle sounding version of gunfire-

\--

He hears the gunshots from where he’s lying on the roof and adjusts his scope, trying to see further down the hall to Lukin's office. 

He catches sight of Sam running towards the windows facing him, two agents in suits behind him and fires two shots in quick succession, absorbing the kickback against his left shoulder as the agents fall. Sam pauses for a brief moment in his sight before waving his hands in the air at the window. 

James lifts his head sharply just as more men start swarming Sam, but he has a hole in his stomach now telling him something is **_wrong_**. 

He leaves the rifle while he shoves himself up and takes the two quick steps to the ledge, jumping off and jerking his wings out to catch an updraft and angle himself towards the building, closing his wings as he nears the windows and angling himself down, crashing through the one Sam had been signalling him at and rolling across the glass covered, shiny black floor, the sounds of grunts and fighting filling his ears. 

He takes out three of the five agents swarming Sam as he runs for Lukin's office at the end of the hall, eyes quickly darting around.

"Steve!" he calls out, listening intently. 

Nothing.

He spins back around, stalking forward towards Sam in the middle of combat with the last agent, flaring his wings out when the man lands a blow to Sam's face and spins around. James grabs his face with his left hand, shoving him to the side and against a wall. 

" _Where is he_ ," James and Bucky demand, low and teeth bared.

The man's eyes widen behind his metal fingers, wings thrashing. James slams them against the wall with his own, feathers bristling. 

" _ **Where**_ ," they demand again, tightening their grip enough to make the man cringe and groan behind the metal of James' hand.

"Private elevator," the man grunts out in accented English, "Lukin's office."

James crushes his skull hard and quick, ignoring the blood on his hand as he turns and let's the body drop, sprinting for the office.

He scans it over quickly, running for the seam in the wall his eyes find in a far corner and prying it open, not bothering to see if Sam is following before he jumps down, landing in a crouch with a heavy _thud_ on top of the stopped elevator. He rips the door built into its roof open with his blood covered hand and scans the inside briefly before dropping down, wings flaring as he lands.

The doors are open to another hall and he trains his ears.

Nothing. 

He lets out a growl as he takes off down the hall, trying to find anything.

He finds nothing, not even shoes prints. 

It's empty.

He lets out a shaky breath, wings trembling faintly.

The building is silent.

Steve is gone.


	24. I’m scared cause the past keeps pulling me back distorting the future, it won’t let me heal it tells us what’s real, my vision’s gone black

He groans quietly, and the first thing he notices is that his feet are dragging-

Literally.

He slowly blinks his eyes open, finding cement floor beneath him and his shirt gone, arms around each of his pulling him forward. He tries to stretch his wings, but they only give a slight _jerk_.

"Ah, you are awake," comes an accented voice that sounds vaguely familiar. Steve tries to lift his head and drag his eyes up, feathers a soft _shush_ as they trail along the floor.

He just barely sees Lukin to his front right, looking back at Steve over his shoulder between his dark wing as they move down the hall, sickly yellow-green light (that reminds Steve uncomfortably of Loki) lighting what appears to be a long corridor with a door every once in a while to break up the drone monotony of gray cement.

"Where..." Steve tries to get out, tongue heavy in his mouth.

"And talking. Good," Lukin says, sounding pleased, one hand gripping his wrist behind his back, "And to answer your unfinished question...That will become apparent soon enough."

Steve drags his eyes back ahead when they come to a stop at a door to the left, a set of double doors at the end of the corridor twenty feet down. Lukin opens the door and they drag Steve inside.

There’s a few people in white lab coats in the room, two messing with what looks like a hideous metal chair on the other side of the room and one checking small vials to his left. None of them look as Lukin and the people dragging him come to a stop, the door _click_ ing closed behind them.

"Do you recognize this, Captain?" Lukin asks, walking over to the chair. Steve tries to frown. "That is alright, do not strain yourself," Lukin says, turning back towards him, "It is understandable if you don't. I very much doubt even _it_ would want to discuss the way in which it was made to forget."

Steve freezes, as much as he currently can, eyes dragging from Lukin back to the horrific chair.

"Yes," Lukin says, running a hand almost lovingly over some of the metal, "This is _its'_. And now...it will be yours."

Steve tries to struggle as the two men drag him over, the people in lab coats stepping around him like he’s a pesky child or a misbehaving dog.

He's forced into the chair and then clamps are locking down around his arms and a rubber bit is being shoved into his mouth when he opens it to try and yell.

He hears metal moving behind him and electricity, hears Lukin say, "Let's start with a higher voltage than usual. I want this to last longer than the original weapons'," and starts breathing rapidly as something nears the sides of his head, fear spiking in his chest as he hears a close, electric hum.

His last thought is wondering if:

_Is this what Bucky and James felt like?_

Before-

The pieces of metal next to his head humming with electricity clamp down and he screams.

\--

When he gets back up to Lukin's office, Sam is tearing through Lukin's desk, papers flying everywhere. Sam looks up.

"I haven't found anything yet that might say where they took him," he says, gunmetal wings jittery, the metal of the Falcon exoskeleton on the backs of them rattling faintly with the motions.

James stares at him for a moment, eyes dropping to the ground before something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, looking over.

He walks over to it, picking up the phone Natalia gave to Steve. He hears Sam's steps near as he turns the screen on, scrolls to her name (' _N_ ') and dials, bringing it up to his ear.

It rings twice before picking up, the other end silent.

"Natalia," he says, voice empty, "I need your help."

He hears her suck in a near inaudible breath on the other end of the line.

\--

Natasha meets them in Rome. He's not surprised that she's not in the states, and he's even less surprised that her wig this time is dark brown (the same as her wings).

Bucky's residual emotions from the switch still linger on the back of his tongue while they take a train, like acid that wants to tear down to his bones, all sharp _anger_ and _worry_ and _pain_. Sam made it out of talking with Bucky in tact when they switched a few hours ago to tell Bucky what happened, at least, not that James can really bring himself to care.

Steve is gone, and James was the one on the surface.

He's not under any illusions that some of Bucky's anger isn't aimed at him (including some of his own).

\--

Natasha smuggles the three of them back into the states via boat again, then leads them to one of the large properties out near a forest outside of New York City, where Stark is apparently holed up.

James keeps his eyes straight ahead where he’s sitting in the passenger seat, occasionally scanning the treelines on either side of the car ( _like Natalia_ ). Sam lets out a surprised sound from the back when the house comes into view around a curved path of trees.

"Expecting something big and loud?" Natasha asks, slightly amused.

"Yeah," Sam replies, "More 'mansion' less 'quaint abode'. Smart though, since most everyone will be expecting the same thing."

The house is far less flamboyant than Stark is known for, and he thinks it might even pass as something Steve might be comfortable owning-

James viciously cuts that thought off, focusing instead on scanning the area.

Natasha pulls the car up in front of the house and James gets out, not waiting for the car to roll to a complete stop and leaving the door open as he heads straight for the house's front door.

" _James_ ," Natalia says, but she doesn’t try to stop him.

He stops a few inches from the front door anyway. He knows better, even with the mess he's currently made up of and trying to suppress, that Stark isn't one to take lightly, nor his machinery. Just because JARVIS isn’t running doesn't mean Stark doesn't have other security measures in place.

" _There you are, Robocop_ ," comes Stark's voice. James keeps himself still. " _I spy with my little eye something pissed and scary with a metal arm that I **still** haven't gotten a close up look at_ -"

" _Stark_ ," Natasha says as she comes up on his right, a sharpness to her voice.

There’s the sound of three _click_ s-

" _Door's open_."

James opens it and walks inside.

Stark's in the main room fiddling with three holoscreens, red and gold tipped wings twitching and fluttering now and then. He looks over when Sam closes the door.

"Heard you lost Capsicle," he says lightly. James growls as he takes a few steps forward and Stark raises his hands in the air. "Hold on there, I'm just trying to lighten the mood," he says, eyes and hands going back to the screens, "Who's the new guy?"

"Sam Wilson," Sam introduces himself, eyes roaming around the room before settling on Stark.

"Huh," Stark replies, tongue poking out for a moment while he types in a brief, rapid sequence, "Judging from the boosters and exoskeleton on your wings, you were part of that _Falcon_ program I consulted for a few years ago."

"That I was," Sam confirms, sounding faintly surprised.

"Uh-huh," Stark says, distracted. James' fingers curl into fists.

"Have you gotten-" he starts.

"In three," Stark cuts him off, typing quickly, "Two. One," he finishes with a flourish, throwing his arms and wings out as ten more holograms materialize all around the room. Sam jumps and dodges one.

" _Good afternoon, Sir_ ," JARVIS greets Stark from the ceiling. James sees Sam jump again out of the corner of his eye, gunmetal wings flaring, but can't be bothered to care (or relate).

"Find St-" he starts.

" _Sirs, and ma'am_ ," JARVIS cuts him off this time, " _You have a call_."

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. "Put it on screen."

Another screen materializes and Lukin's face flickers into view. James tenses.

" _Tony Stark_ ," Lukin greets amicably, " _Widow. Asset_."

"Lukin," Tony says, "You seem to have kidnapped one of my teammates."

" _He **did** take something of **mine**_ ," Lukin replies. James' wings stiffen further. Lukin's eyes flicker to him briefly before focusing back on Tony. " _It seemed a fair trade_."

"And let me guess," Tony says, sounding bored, "You want to make a trade."

" _I had thought about it_ ," Lukin replies, " _But this one is showing some **promise**_." Tony’s wings shift as the image of Lukin does, the camera panning around to land on a figure in a familiar chair-

" _Steve!_ " James and Bucky shout, wings jerking out, and he's not aware of moving, but finds himself directly in front of the screen after he blinks. His eyes dart over it, blacking out every few seconds before being jerked _back_ each time to stare at Steve in _his chair-_

The clamps are secured around Steve’s arms and the monitoring machinery is turned on, his wings heavy looking things like they're weighted to the floor, dye half gone on each and black absorbing the light around them. Lukin-

The machinery starts humming and his blackouts get more disjointed, pressure building behind his eyes and head _pounding_ -

" _ **STOP!**_ " he yells, metal hand a tight fist at his side while his right flies up to his head to grip at his hair almost of its own volition, and he thinks he might mean both the machine _and_ Bucky.

He winces at a sharp pain spiking through his head, knees shaking slightly with it. He forces himself to stay standing.

Everyone's eyes are on him but the ones he wants, and he only has eyes for Steve.

The machinery powers down and he sees Steve breathing hard on the screen before the camera spins back around and Lukin's face re-enters it.

" _You need maintenance_ ," Lukin says after taking a moment to look at him, " _You are spilling at the seams. This chair can fix that. You know it can_."

James grits his teeth, trying to force his breathing steady.

 _Fuck_ , his head feels like it's splitting in _half_ -

"You want to trade?" he has to clarify, sliding his fingers from his hair.

" _ **You** only need a few repairs_ ," Lukin states, eyes glancing away from the camera (" _To Steve_ ," a voice that might be Bucky's whispers in his head). Lukin looks back to him. " _Another ten or more years might be worth it to train your **Captain** , but while I am a patient man, I do not have **that** kind of patience_ ," he finishes with a slight _smile_.

James stares at him for a minute, ignoring the stares he can feel coming from behind him, from his left, and nods once, sharply, wings stiff at his back.

Lukin actually fucking _smiles_.

" _Come home_ ," Lukin says, and James' and Bucky’s _skin_ crawls, " _And you can have your toy soldier back_."

The feed cuts out.

"Are you _completely_ crazy?" Tony demands as soon as the screen's gone, "We can't _hand you over_ and we can't _trust him_. Tell me you _actually_ have a plan in that divided brain of yours. Hell, maybe _Bucky_ has one."

James grits his teeth again, knees shaking and wings trembling faintly.

" _Stark_ ," Natasha says, sharp and piercing through his ears and right to his _brain_ -

" _What?_ " Stark complains, " _I'm just_ -"

James' knees finally give out and both of his hands jump up to his head, gripping the sides tightly while his breathing gets out of his control and picks up. He hears a choked sound and is distantly aware that it's coming from _him_ -

" _What's happening?_ " he hears Sam demand, footsteps quickly approaching.

"... _-oo much stress_ -" he hears Natasha say through the pressure in his head and the increasing roaring in his ears, the _pain_ \- sounding like it's coming to him from _underwater_ -

And then everything goes blissfully black.

\--

_"Designation," a man demands in heavily accented English._

_He tries to pull his arms-_

_Why can he only feel one?_

_He looks over._

_"What-"_

_Electricity surges through his head and down his spine-_

_He screams._

_-_

_" **Designation.** "_

_"I-"_

_Electricity. He screams._

_-_

_"Designation. "_

_"...Winter-..." he hesitates, trailing off._

_He's not sure how long it's been since he was last asked, since they told him his new 'name' (it feels new, even if he can't remember). He's not sure how long it's been since he got his breathing under control enough to **talk** (from the electricity, his lost **arm** -)_

_Electricity. His hand tightens into a hard fist as he screams._

_-_

_"Designation. "_

_"Winter...Soldier?" he hesitates again._

_More electricity._

_He screams again, bites down on the edge of his tongue and tastes a sudden burst of blood._

_-_

_"Designation. "_

_"...Winter Soldier," he hesitates for a second, alreading knowing the consequence for it._

_He screams, blood flecking out onto his chin and bare chest._

_He's not sure how long he's been in this torture device of a chair-_

_-_

_"Designation. "_

_"Winter Soldier," he states, blood trailing over the front of his lower lip and out one side._

_He can't wipe it away._

_-_

_A different voice demands something in what he thinks is Russian._

_His brain is muddled._

_"What?"_

_He screams, the corners of his vision are dark when he gets his eyes back open._

_-_

_" **Designation** ," he thinks is what the voice demands in Russian._

_His vision goes black-_

_-_

_" **Designation** ," a voice demands hard in Russian._

_He slowly uncurls his one fist._

_He only has one name._

_"Winter Soldier," he says without hesitation._

_-_

_" **Designation: Winter Soldier** ," he states in Russian as he stands in front of a man's desk in the highest building he's ever seen or been in. It's dark beyond the large windows beyond his goggles, but the pinpoints of city lights are bright (he thinks he may have seen something like them above his head once, but the dark, blurry image that's behind his eyelids when he blinks is gone before he can look at it more closely)._

_The man in front of him smiles._

_(He has the brief thought that he’s seen a blonde man smile once, and it was nothing like the thing in front of him._

_It was...bright. Warm._

_This one only makes him feel more numb than he already does)._

_The thought fades like the whisp of smoke the previous one was._

_He does not know who he is beyond his designation._

_It does not matter if a smile is bright and warm or cold and sharp._

_**Designation** , a voice like the man in front of him whispers inside of his head._

_**Winter Soldier** , he thinks back._

_He does not know how it feels, but he thinks he might be cold-_

 

He jerks awake with a gasp, sitting straight up, wings shooting out, one ramming into something solid while his other spreads, feathers flaring. Grey shifts in his periphery and his eyes dart over briefly, closing as he lowers his head forward and runs his hands up and back through his hair.

"You okay, man?" Sam asks, gentle.

Bucky blows out a breath as he lets his hands drop to his lap and lifts his head, wings sagging before he pulls them back in. He looks back over at where Sam is sitting in a chair beside the bed Bucky appears to be sitting in. "How long have I been out?" he asks instead, anxiety rising high in his chest when he remembers- " _Is Steve_ -"

Sam raises a placating hand, expression going the kind of neutral Bucky had seen on him when he'd watched part of Sam's group session at the VA. "What do you remember?"

"I-" he pauses, eyes dropping to his lap, "You told me about Steve, and then I was in a house," he starts, reaching up with his right hand to grip his hair, "I kept blacking out every few seconds, and Steve was-" he stops, swallowing.

Steve was like in his dream.

Like his _memories_ -

"Sam," he says stiffly, "What happened with Steve."

Sam lets out a breath, wings shifting in Bucky’s periphery.

Bucky keeps his eyes straight ahead.

"Lukin had Steve strapped down in some sort of chair, " Sam says after a moment, "He had it on briefly and turned it off when James agreed to a trade. Which, by the way, all of us are hoping was part of some _plan_ -"

"It wasn't," Bucky says immediately, a knot in his stomach, because as soon as he says it he knows how _real_ it actually is, can practically taste the residue of it on the back of his tongue. It only seems to happen when James feels strongly about something before they switch.

He hopes that James felt the taste of what Bucky did earlier.

Sam goes silent.

Bucky swallows.

"James would do it in a heartbeat to keep Steve out of that... _thing_ ," he says, quieter, glancing down and to the side. He knows James would, as sure as he knows _he_ would, too.

"What does it do? Sam asks quietly after a minute.

Bucky tries to keep his eyes from going unfocused, tries to ignore the sharp tingle of remembered _pain_ zinging _down his spine_ -

His wings give a jerk.

"It takes away who you are," Natasha says.

Bucky's eyes dart up to find her standing in the doorway passed his hanging bangs, back straight and wings still behind her.

"Stuffs something else inside," she adds, quieter, almost a whisper. Her eyes go far away for a moment and then they focus on him, in the present, wings giving the slightest twitch. "Barton has news."

Bucky sits up straighter.

\--

"He's being held in an old Kronas Corp factory towards the edge of the city," Barton says, "They weren't being subtle about moving him." Barton's eyes shift from the holograms to him. "You look like shit." Bucky ignores him, shifting his wings slightly as his eyes go over the blueprints.

"These are up to date?" he asks, looking to Stark.

Stark's wings give a small jerk, a displeased frown on his face. "No," he says, "They didn't have anything on digital record passed these from 1985."

Bucky frowns, looking back to the blueprints.

"So we could be going in blind," Sam says.

"Most likely," Stark replies.

Bucky turns and heads for the adjacent kitchen, pulling open, digging through, and closing various drawers.

"What are you looking for, Barnes?" Barton asks.

He stops when he finds what he’s looking for and roams his eyes over the kitchen, snagging a paper towel off of a spinner rack. He holds it up, flicking the lighter on and lighting the edge.

"We need James."

\--

Getting back into Russia isn't hard, going in unnoticed isn't hard (even _with_ Stark coming along), but staking out the facility for two days _is_.

"You doing alright?" Sam asks on the second night, keeping his voice down to a near whisper while Natasha and Barton take their turns to sleep, Stark fiddling with something in the corner of the shitty room they're staying in.

Bucky glances over briefly to him, eyes tracking the street light angled down the top side of Sam's face.

It reminds him of sighting the scope on his sniper rifle.

He looks away.

"Oh yeah," he says a little sarcastically, "Steve’s _most likely_ halfway down that street in that facility, in the hands of the man that tortured me for seventy years and turned me into a weapon, and I have to sit here for two days doing _recon_." He doesn't see Sam so much as shift out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah," he says again, voice flat, " _I'm fine_."

It's quiet for a minute before he feels a hand on his right shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"Hey," Sam says. He looks over. "We'll get him back," Sam says earnestly.

Bucky looks at him for a moment before shifting his gaze back outside around the window frame.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks, _but what shape will he be in when we do?_

\--

No one comes or goes beyond two guards in a black car with blacked out windows, and on the third night they finally make their move.

Natalia leads the way in with James behind her and Barton bringing up the rear, while Stark stays behind with Sam, both with their mechanical enhancements ready to go at a moment's notice. He hears Sam's voice in his ear with the ear comms Stark gave them all.

" _Two guards completing perimeter check and will reach your position in two minutes_ ," Sam says quietly.

Natalia stands to the side of the side door, her red bright even in the night shadow of the building. She looks at him and James nods, reaching for the wires he knows links the door to the internal alarms and snapping them clean between two metal fingers. Natalia checks the right while Barton keeps an eye on the left, and James pries the door open with as little damage as possible and the three of them slip quietly inside.

There’s large equipment of various types littering the huge floor: print machines for books and currency, forklifts that have rusted, various large metal containers, stacked and alone. They split up to check along the perimeter floor, looking for the seam James knows is _somewhere_ (but he's not sure _where_ ).

A few minutes later, he hears a low whistle and quickly and silently makes his way over.

Barton is crouched down behind one of the print machines and looks up when Natalia approaches from his front, glancing briefly over his shoulder at James before standing up and gesturing to the floor, stepping aside without a word. James crouches down in his place, looking over the seams for himself.

He traces over one of four lines in the floor with a metal finger, listening to the grind of it briefly before he tilts his head and looks over at the wall to his left, standing up and walking over to it. He opens the fuse box mounted onto it and finds a keycard slot and retinal scanner inside.

"Stark," he says, almost inaudible, "Keycard. Retinal scanner."

" _Alright_ ," Stark says in his ear, " _Put the ear comm on the retinal_."

James frowns slightly but does so, waiting. Natalia takes her ear comm out and hands it to him. He slips it in his ear.

" _Now open the card scanner and rewire the yellow and green wires to the red and black_ ," Stark instructs him next.

James does as he's told, then watches the scanner light up and scan the ear comm. The lights switch from red to green and then the cement door in the floor slides open to a lit staircase going down.

James pulls Natalia's ear comm out and hands it back over when Stark says he can retrieve his own, pulling it off and slipping it back in his ear, closing the fuse box.

The three of them make their way down, this time James leading and Natalia and Barton picking up the rear.

The stairs plateau out into a long, wide hall, cement on every side and sickly, familiar, yellow-green lights built into the ceiling. He doesn't pause, just starts walking straight ahead.

There’s breaks in the hall every now and then, more halls that branch out and bare, red doors every so often. He catches dirty blonde wings twitching in his periphery every once in a while while red stay completely still, and he knows well enough that that stillness is forced. He and Natalia both are more familiar with hallways like this one than either of them care to be, and Barton's twitching wings give away that he’s all too aware of that.

James comes to a stop at the last door before the double doors at the end of the hall, Natalia and Barton with him, glancing at the double doors briefly as he turns to face the single. He reaches out with his left hand, not wanting to leave a trace of himself here (anymore than already has been), and slowly turns the doorknob, silently easing the door open.

The room is empty save for a cart of equipment and small bottles and his chair facing him from directly opposite him in the room. It's as he remembers it, as he remembers seeing _Steve_ in it, and he's not sure how to feel.

He wants to destroy it for what it may have done to Steve.

He wants to sit in it and feel the pain that was his one main constant for seventy years.

He does neither.

He closes the door, sharing a look with Natalia briefly before he continues on down the hall to the double doors at the end of it.

They stop again, and James' wings twitch faintly.

There’s something terrible behind these doors.

He can feel it.

It's born from countless battles, missions, training; fighting others and being fought. He couldn't let himself feel much very often under Lukin's rule, it was dangerous and faulty.

But he was permitted to feel the _danger_. It kept him operational, kept him _alive_ and helped him to _survive_ ( _to carry on as a dog on a choke collar leash_ -)

He's not sure when it started, maybe with Bucky and back alleys, but he knew danger when it was near and when it was retreating, and it helped that _he_ was danger, too.

And he knows.

There’s something _dangerous_ behind these doors.

He looks to his right and Natalia looks back, guns already drawn. He looks to his left and Barton looks back, his own gun drawn, as well.

They know it, too.

James looks back to the doors and reaches out with his left hand, turning the handle and giving the door a gentle _push_ -

His breath catches.

Steve’s standing ten feet away, the dye flecked off down to the ends of his wings, angled away so James can't see his face-

There’s five bodies on the floor in various states of disarray, an arm a few feet from one and a head a few more from another-

There’s blood spray on the floor and walls, splatters, and pools of it on the ground-

There’s blood up to Steve’s elbows, splashed up his bare side and on his wings, barely visible in the sickly, yellow-green lighting and the absolute of the black of his wings almost swallowing it whole, the blood and the lighting's colors.

Steve’s standing ten feet away, but it feels much farther than that.

None of them move.

James glances over to Natalia and Clint, whose eyes are both wide, wings flared a bit. Natalia recovers first.

She slowly lowers her wings, catching Clint's attention and silently signalling him to do the same before looking at James.

James forces his breathing to stay calm and even, forming words with his lips without using his voice. It feels like they're in a room with an uncaged tiger ( _and he should know_ ).

" _He won't know us_ ," he mouths to Natalia.

She nods slightly, both of them looking over to Clint.

Clint signs to them, " _Can't do the lip thing. Can you sign?_ "

James nods while Natalia signs, " _Steve won't know us. Keep silent. Think tiger_."

Clint frowns, signing back, " _What do we do?_ "

James is about to sign back when Tony says in their ears, " _Guys, I've got eyes on Lukin_ -"

James spins back around, flinging his left hand out and grabbing Steve’s at the wrist, just managing to stop it a few inches from hitting Clint's wide eyed face, plates of his arm shifting and reinforcing to compensate for the force of Steve's punch. Steve’s wings are spread out almost as wide as the room, eyes blank, and James' stomach twists into something _ugly_.

" _Guys?_ " Tony asks.

They never told him radio silence.

Steve pushes a little more.

 _Shit_.

" _Tap once if you need radio silence, twice if you're in trouble_ ," Stark says seriously. Natalia taps hers sharply three times, other hand holding a gun trained on Steve. " _We're coming in in five_."

"Steve," Natalia tries.

Steve shoots a wing out towards her that she dodges but otherwise doesn't react, not even to pull his wrist out of James' grasp.

James' grip slips slightly on the blood coating Steve’s wrist and he tightens it a little. "Steve," he tries. Steve’s wings twitch slightly. " _Steve_ ," he tries again.

Nothing.

James pushes Steve a little with the grip on his wrist, testing, and Steve lets himself be pushed, slightly, muscles easing fractionally from trying to steadily push against the grip on his wrist. James slowly eases him back, gradually lightening his grip. Steve relaxes incrementally with it, finally pulling his wings in when James' grip is a barely there thing.

"Steve, I'm James," he says quietly, watching Steve for any reaction, "Do you know me?"

Steve’s wings twitch again, a little more this time, and his eyes flick up from where he’d been staring almost unseeingly straight ahead (but James and Natalia both know better. He was calculating).

They stare at one another, Natalia and Barton unmoving and silent behind him, and Steve tilts his head, just slightly.

It's wrong.

James _**hates**_ it.

Steve doesn’t say anything, and James wasn't fully expecting him to (not if Steve’s acting so much like _him_ ), and James, very slowly, slides his hand down Steve’s, lacing their fingers together. He watches Steve’s eyes drop down to them, feels the pressure of Steve’s fingers tightening almost experimentally on his left hand. James gently squeezes Steve’s back and Steve looks back up, wings twitching faintly.

"I will take you home," James says quietly. Steve tilts his head again slightly.

He squeezes James' fingers again, wings shifting slightly forward, and Steve’s eyes dart to them, studying them for a moment like he doesn't understand what they're doing before looking back up at James.

"Home," Steve says, voice scratched up and more than rough around the edges. They made him scream a lot.

James keeps the squeeze of his fingers gentle, doesn’t let anger bleed through into it. "Home," he confirms. Steve’s body relaxes slightly further, and it's enough to let James know what he needs to.

There's an explosion from above and they all tense. Natalia turns in his periphery and he does the same, leading Steve out of the blood covered room by the hand.

Steve follows along behind him without a fight and they reach the stairs, heading up into orange and yellow heat and light, and James has the brief thought that he should have worn his mask before he smells something _burning_ -

\--

Bucky stumbles briefly before catching what appears to be a stair step, looking back at the pressure on his left hand and freezing. " _Steve_ ," he breathes.

Steve stares back, unmoving, and Bucky’s eyes move over him, take in his lack of a shirt, the _blood_ , his _wings_ -

There’s an explosion-

\--

" _James!_ " Natalia calls down to him and in his comm, and James turns back around, leading Steve the rest of the way up the stairs.

A couple of the machines are on fire and Stark's in his Iron Man suit in the air with Falcon, both dodging an array of projectiles being fired at them by a batch of agents on the ground, wings covered in red and gold and gray. He spots Barton's back retreating as he heads over to help, Natalia firing from behind the machine in front of them. He goes to move forward but then the hand in his jerks out of his grip and he whirls around, eyes quickly tracking Steve running for a ladder built into the wall twelve feet away. James runs after him, calling his name once before he climbs up the ladder after Steve.

\--

He climbs out onto the catwalk forty feet up and runs, slowing to a stop few feet away from near the center. He hears boots on the grate behind him, but keeps his eyes ahead.

Lukin's fifteen feet away on the other end.

" _Familiar, isn’t it?!_ " Lukin calls over.

He shifts, Lukin's voice overlapping with one higher, accent more German than Russian, red under a mask of plastic skin.

" _I thought it might be!_ " Lukin yells over the fire and gunfight below, " _Except_ -"

Lukin pulls out a gun and _fires_ , and he automatically dodges to the side, freezing when he hears the bullet connect with something solid a few feet behind him. He turns slowly, eyes widening-

The familiar man behind him staggers a little, reaching for the rail with his right hand (flesh not metal), and just _looks_ at him, eyes familiar even in fire ( _ **especially** in fire_ ), and then an explosion goes off down below that rocks the whole building and the man's eyes change as he gives a pained _gasp_ that reaches his ears and the man _goes over the side_ -

He doesn't think, just _runs_ , slamming his abdomen into the warm railing as he leans over and reaches with an outstretched hand, fingers brushing warm fingers as he watches with wide eyes focused on wide eyes as the man falls into the fire stretching up to meet him, something lodging up into his throat ( _he thinks it might be his heart_ )-

He makes a sound that gets caught and twisted up in his mouth, two names trying to come out instead of _one_ -

Something bursts up through the flames and white wings spread wide beat against and out of the fire, the man's right hand outstretched towards him, the edges of his _wings singed_ -

He grabs hold of it this time, hauling him quickly up and back over the railing.

" _Bucky, James_ ," comes out of his mouth, and it sounds right, _feels_ right like so much of him doesn't, mind stretched thin over the bones of a toppled infrastructure ( _like this building_ -)

" _Steve_ ," Bucky and James say, and it sounds like two in a voice and not one, even if he doesn't know how he can tell the difference.

But the name sounds right ( _and wrong and right_ -)

The man with metal over the backs of his wings flies over, jets built into the metal keeping him hovering in place instead of having to rotate his wings to do it.

" _Steve, James or Bucky, we need to go! The whole building's about ready to come down!_ " he yells over another explosion.

He- Steve. Steve looks at Bucky and James briefly before looping his right arm around their waist and pulling them close, mouth pinching at the pained groan it gets him but holding on tight. He climbs up onto the railing and leaps off, spreading his wings wide and following the man with the metal on his wings out of the building and into the briefly heated night.

The metal arm around his shoulders squeezes tight, wings brushing his and sending a shiver up his spine.

It has nothing to do with the cold, and he's not sure why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read Ghosts and are worried that what is going on with Steve is just going to be more of the same, don't worry. It won't be.


	25. Memory is heavy as a stone. I am empty, in my end you were my beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm subconsciously a c t I v e l y trying to avoid writing on my tablet even though it's my only real option right now ughhhhiojoj

He listens to the snip of scissors cutting gauze on the private, unmarked jet a 'Pepper Potts' managed to discreetly send over to a private airstrip after Tony apparently called her during the firefight, the seat almost too plush at his back and his gut killing him (but thankfully not literally).

No one's talking.

He follows the black in his periphery over and down.

Steve’s still sitting on the floor next to his chair with his back pressed to it and his knees pulled up, big black wings blocking most of Bucky's view of the other side of the isle.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut tight for a moment, trying to ground himself a little more.

He's not sure how him and James managed to hold themselves together sharing headspace - brief as it was and painful as fuck - and he's not sure what being able to do it at _all_ might mean for them, but for now his head is no longer pounding and the black of Steve's wings are familiar and comforting, even if Steve is...

Natasha finishes the wrap around his abdomen and he reluctantly sits back further into the chair, feathers briefly brushing hers as she moves back to sit in the one opposite him.

"How long until we get back?" he asks, trying to ignore Sam, Clint, and Tony’s eyes on Steve.

He knows Steve’s covered in blood and essentially staring into space, knows it's... _fuck_ , knows that it's _bad_ , but he doesn't like them looking at Steve that way. Sam's at least trying to look away, and Clint's mostly occupying himself with his arrows, but Tony's been openly staring when he hasn't _needed_ to look away.

Like Steve’s some strange...puzzle, some strange _thing_.

" _Stark!_ " he snaps when he doesn't get a reply. Steve’s wings twitch once out of the corner of his eye but otherwise he doesn’t react. Bucky still catches it though and takes a slow, steadying breath.

It only works a little.

Stark jumps, wings jerking as his eyes leap up to Bucky's, blinking a few times. "Two hours," he says clearly, even though his eyes keep dropping back down to Steve like he can't help it.

Bucky's fingers curl around the armrests.

"I'm going to just bring up what we're all thinking," Barton starts, "I'm no expert on mind control, but I've been around the block. Is he safe to be around like this?" he asks, studying Steve. Bucky looks over at him and Barton looks back, shrugging his wings. "I'm not trying to pick a fight, " he adds, "I just know I wasn't a peach to be around. Neither were you, for that matter," he finishes, pointing his arrow at Bucky.

Bucky stares back, fingers tightening briefly and wings twitching once before looking back down at Steve, who's still staring straight ahead (like he has been).

"Maybe we should cuff him," Stark says. Bucky looks up to give him a warning stare but Stark’s eyes are busy tracking over- "And I _still_ can't believe that his wings are _black_. Talk about the 'black sheep'."

Bucky stares at him, around Steve’s wing which has gradually been getting more and more tense since Stark started talking, and Bucky sits up and shifts around in his seat, right arm wrapped around his middle, and brings his right wing forward and around in front of Steve, who pauses before relaxing a little behind its cover. He must find it familiar, or at least, Bucky _hopes_ that he does.

Stark finally looks up.

It's quiet again until Natasha says, calmly, "You ruin those stitches and I'll make the next ones hurt."

Bucky sits back against the seat but keeps his wing where it is and his eyes on Stark, staring him down.

"You got a problem?" he asks quietly, but it's not really a question.

Stark stares back, wings still. His eyes drop back to where Steve is behind Bucky's wing, tilting his head.

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' loudly before turning in his seat and pulling out his phone, getting up and bringing it up to his ear while walking towards the front of the plane.

Bucky watches him go, eyes shifting back to Steve when Tony’s out of sight.

"Hey," he says quietly, after a minute. The only reaction he gets from Steve is a faint wing twitch. "Why don't we go clean you up," he says, slowly pushing himself up to stand with a wince.

Steve looks up at him then, eyes as blue as Bucky’s had ingrained into his memory since he was ten, but more distracted-blank than even James' had been when Bucky first saw that skype picture of him what seems like ages ago now. Has it only been a couple months? It's hard to keep time straight when he’s splitting the face time.

He holds in a second wince and switches arms, offering his right hand down.

Steve stares at it for a long moment before reaching up cautiously and taking it, letting Bucky pull him up off the floor and lead him back into a bathroom that's larger than Bucky thinks any plane bathroom has a right to be.

He starts to close the door but pauses when he notices Steve watching it intently, wings stiff at his back, and leaves it open a few inches. Steve’s wings relax a little again and his eyes shift back up to Bucky's, waiting.

Bucky tries a smile.

"You wanna clean yourself or do you want me to do it?" he asks, "Like we used to when you'd set a guy straight and I'd pack you back to your place?"

Steve just blinks once, slowly, and Bucky’s smile starts to slip. He shrugs his wings like it doesn't really matter either way and moves to the sink next to Steve, reaching around him to roll up some toilet paper on his hand and nod his head towards the sink.

Steve moves after a moment, leaning his lower back against it a little stiltedly while Bucky gets the toilet paper wet under the faucet, shutting it off before carefully taking one of Steve’s hands into his and starting to clean up the dried blood, bracing himself for a violent reaction.

Steve lets him, wings still a little tense, but his fingers part easy as anything, like they used to when Bucky had to clean them in the 40's (and earlier), and Bucky’s not sure if that's a good sign or not. He's not sure of anything.

He gets Steve’s right hand and arm cleaned off and starts cleaning the dull, dark red streak up Steve's side with a new batch of wet toilet paper, Steve still and breathing even.

Steve moves then, and Bucky doesn't think much of it until Steve ducks his head a half inch and presses lips to his.

Bucky freezes, wings and feathers flaring out a bit. Steve slowly pulls back after a few seconds, eyes on his the whole time.

"I'm not James, Steve," is the first thing Bucky says, frowning slightly. Steve just stares at him so Bucky adds, "There’s two of us in here," he motions to his head with the rolled up, stained toilet paper, "I'm Bucky. You do that with James."

Steve leans away a little more and tilts his head up slightly like he gets it. Bucky wonders if he actually does or if he's just playing along.

He hates that he can't read him like he should be able to.

He hates that it's like trying to read _James, before_ he...changed.

Bucky tries to store that thought away for later, when he can punch something to dust and bare his teeth like a rabid wolf, and goes back to cleaning Steve’s side in cautious but firm swipes.

"You feel nothing?" Steve asks quietly, and Bucky freezes again. It's the first time Steve’s spoken (to him, to anyone) since they got him back. Bucky looks up.

"Do you?" he asks, and he's pretty sure what his own answer might be, but-

Steve just looks at him, eyes darting across Bucky's face, wings, studying, thinking maybe, and Bucky goes back to cleaning him up, starting on his left hand and trying to stop his gradually swirling thoughts.

\--

" _How is he holding up?_ "

"Fine," he says.

" _How are **you** holding up?_ " she asks next.

"Fine," he repeats, only hesitating for a second, but he already knows it's too long.

She looks at him for a moment, catching it, eyes taking in his face and wings, her own gold ones twitching once faintly.

" _Are you?_ " she asks a little softer.

His wings shake briefly.

"I think I need to see you," he admits, quietly, like guilt, like shame. Fuck, he feels like he’s in need of a fix except it's not drugs, it's another body. He feels shame for that, for doing that to her, but he also needs to...make sure of something.

She takes another moment to try and read him, but they don't know each other that well yet (does he want her to?). Still, she looks like she gets it.

She nods and he could let out a heavy sigh of relief, a moment of peace from his head, his _life_ , in sight.

" _Where are you? I'll be there in an hour_ ," she says. His wings give a brief jolt.

"Not here," he says, almost too quickly. She raises an eyebrow and wing in question. He glances towards the door to the hall, looking back to her. "Steve and James are... _involved_. I don't know what him seeing us together might do. He's been...unpredictable," he settles on.

Steve had nearly punched Tony’s face in half an hour ago, literally, when they got in just for clapping him on the shoulder and trying to be friendly. Bucky only managed to catch Steve’s fist an inch from Tony’s face because he was watching Steve closely and largely, also he thinks, because of James' ingrained reflexes.

He doesn't think he'll forget the fear on Tony’s face, the crack in his voice when he'd let out, "Okay that was _too_ fast. _What the hell?_ "

"Because what you've been seeing up 'till now is restraint," Bucky had replied, left hand on Steve’s wrist gently easing him back.

Tony’s wide eyes had shifted briefly to him before darting back to Steve. "He's been _holding **back?**_ "

Bucky hadn't said anything, just lead Steve to the room he'd woken up in after Lukin's call and stayed with him for an hour before leaving him to it, trying to let Steve get used to his new surroundings (like a fucking _dog_ -)

He knows, much as he preferred Steve with him when he was going through something similar, he more preferred having Steve at a distance, _safe_ , at least as much as Steve had fucking _let_ himself be.

He doesn’t want to make it any harder for Steve to focus on other things, to get distracted by other presences or possible threats, which they all are, even Bucky.

(And while he's wanted Tony to show more respect for Steve, he didn’t want it to happen this way. Knows Steve wouldn't either).

" _Closest hotel?_ " she asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He shakes his wings out a little while shaking his head briefly and focusing back on the screen. JARVIS materializes another one to his right with a location on it and Bucky reads it off. "Albany. Place called _The_ _Windmill?_ " She raises an eyebrow and he shrugs a wing. It's not like _he_ named the damn place.

" _Alright_ ," she agrees.

"Thank you," he says, and means it.

She smiles in a way that reminds him a little of Peggy, of all people, in one of her rarely seen, softer moments with Steve, and his stomach does a strange, not altogether pleasant twist.

He'd rather not think about Peggy, especially now and when he'd like to not think at all.

The call disconnects, and for the first time since this whole thing started, he feels like he can almost take a breath.

\--

He listens to the voices and the footsteps outside the room and down the hall, all familiar even though the most he's remembered is a flash of a smile here, a flicker of a laugh there.

They said they know him and that he knows them, that they're friends.

He doesn't remember it, not enough to believe their words, anyway.

But some of them are more familiar than others. The one with white wings. That one makes him feel...More than he's currently capable of sorting through.

He turns around.

He heads for the bathroom, flicking on the light.

He positions himself in front of the mirror and looks up.

His eyes are blue ( _a cube, bright and beautiful and terrifying_ -), his hair is gold ( _fire coming up from_ _underneath, blocking someone in front of him on the other side of_ -), his wings are black (" _ **Worthless no-** **color!**_ ")

The light refracts and his vision splinters and he grips the sides of his head tight, fingertips pressing down hard against his skull-

" _Nah, it's fine, Steve_."

His wings give a jerk.

" _I'll do it on my own. Can't help you being sick and all."_

_"I can still help, Buck."_

_"In your condition? You couldn't even pull out a chair let alone carry a **crate**."_

_"Buck-"_

_"Just stick to what you're good at," Bucky said, smiling, "Being a burden._ "

Steve’s head shoots up, eyes wide in the mirror and wings raised, feathers flared and breath coming a little fast. He slowly lowers his hands, straightening up from where he’d bent at the waist and hunched in on himself.

" _Being a burden._ "

It feels _wrong_.

He stares at his reflection.

It feels...

(right).

\--

He lets out a breath, right forearm over his face. He hears more than sees her turn onto her side next to him.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," she jokes.

Bucky snorts and it turns into a laugh, more hysteria coming through the cracks. He rolls over onto his side to face her, trailing the laugh off before she notices too much.

"Do we now?" he asks, voice low and raising an eyebrow.

She smirks a little back, pushing herself to sit up after a moment, slipping out of the bed and heading towards the bathroom. "Maybe," she teases over her shoulder, leaving the door open.

He tracks her movements, eyes slowly sliding down the gold and soft peach of her. One of her wings gives a flick in his direction and he just as slowly drags his eyes back up, corner of his mouth ticking up. "What?" he asks playfully.

She just shakes her feathers out gently with a smile, heading for the shower. He watches her start it from the bed.

" _You feel nothing?_ "

He sits up and stretches his wings out as far as he can in the room, arms stretching up overhead, listening to the metal hooks of the shower curtain slide once, then again a moment later. He pushes himself to sit back against the headboard, scanning the room after a moment.

He slides over to the side of the bed, finding what he’s looking for, and leans over the side, digging into his pant's pocket and pulling out the Stark phone Natasha gave him before he left.

_'One message'._

He slides his thumb across the screen to unlock it and reads.

_'Hey, man. Just thought I'd let you know Steve’s doing fine. I think. He's been staring at the wall for the past hour. Get back when you can. -Sam'_

He pushes himself out of bed, letting the guilt roil in his gut and continue to work on swallowing him whole while he puts on his jeans. "I have to head back," he calls towards the bathroom.

The shower shuts off and 13 steps out with another round of _tink_ ling, metal rings on metal, hair wet and dark and slicked back. "Alright," she says, walking towards him, naked and perfect in all her imperfections. "Be careful," she adds, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

He nods once, managing a small smile before he pulls the rest of his clothes on and goes.

The guilt of leaving Steve pulls him under while he's flying back.

\--

When he gets back, Sam gives him a _look_ , wings raised a little, and Natasha raises a brow, wings still as ever. Clint's eyebrows rise briefly with his own wings before he returns his attention to a holoscreen in front of him on the couch, and Tony leans around Natasha from ten feet back and grins at him, eyebrows waggling and wings weaving through the air at his sides.

Bucky stares at the four of them, now hyper aware that his hair is a disaster and his clothes are in disarray and he still smells faintly of sex.

"Shut up," he grumbles, turning and heading down the hall. Tony's wolf whistle follows him and Bucky flips him off over his shoulder.

He chances a glance into the room he left Steve in, door still wide open, and sure enough, Steve’s sitting against the right wall with his back to it, staring straight ahead at the opposite wall, like Sam said. Bucky watches him for a minute, something telling him he should move before Steve looks up but finding himself unable to listen to it. And Steve does look up after a moment.

Bucky stills even more than he already was, watching Steve watch him.

Steve stands, and all Bucky can do is watch the grace of him.

That was one thing that only changed a little after the serum. Steve had always been graceful, even when he was spun around with a punch and falling face first into a garbage can, his movements were always fluid.

The Steve he met after the serum was no different, and if anything, he became even _more_ graceful than he had been, the kind ballerinas would kill for-

He pauses, frowns, shaking the thought away before focusing back on Steve.

"Learn anything new while I was away?" he asks, to check how Steve’s doing and to break the silence. Silence with Steve was never rare, but it was comfortable.

This Steve’s silence is empty and full all at once, and it's starting to pull on something in him that Bucky doesn't like the feel of.

Steve tilts his head up slightly then closes his eyes and sniffs the air ( _scenting it like a damn **dog**_ ), eyes opening after a moment to stare straight at Bucky. "Did you?" he asks, and Bucky can't read his voice, _or_ his face.

And he _**hates it**_.

Bucky doesn’t shift like he wants. He has no reason to feel bad (except for leaving Steve alone for a couple hours so he could take care of _himself. **Stupid.**_ Just because seeing Steve like this is shaking him down to his core doesn’t mean he should just _leave_ \- That is exactly the reason he should have _stayed_ -)

Steve’s still staring at him and it's more blank than any stare he's ever gotten from Steve.

He holds in a shudder.

"Not really," he finally replies, not really talking about what he'd started this clusterfuck of a conversation in mind with.

Steve’s wings shift back, slowly, out a couple feet then back in, like a breath.

Steve doesn't say anything, just turns back around and sits back down against the wall, and Bucky stands there for a few minutes staring at him, not sure if he's waiting for something or not, angry or disappointed or sad or _everything_.

When Steve goes back to staring at the wall, Bucky heads for the room's bathroom, digging a change of clothes out of the dresser as he goes, feeling like he’s back in their tiny apart and the present all at once.

He closes the door and flicks the light on, and when he turns around, half of the mirror is shattered in the sink and the rest is a scattered mess of cracks hanging on the wall.

He grips the clothes tightly before setting them down on the shards and walking over to the shower, swallowing down bile as he turns it on.

He wishes they weren't in a position where when he looks at shattered pieces of mirror, all he sees is _Steve_.

He leaves his clothes a scattered mess all over the floor, gets in the shower, and finally lets himself break down.

He ends up putting his left fist through the wall.

\--

Bucky sits outside of the room for a few hours, after, just next to the door, knees up and wrists resting on the tops of them, hands dangling and white feathers sprawled out across the wood floor with his wings.

Tony seems to favor wood flooring, had it in the Tower, surprising since he's all metal and tech and boisterous (unless someone else picked it, which would be far less surprising).

Steve hasn't said a word, or even moved (Bucky's been listening).

He decides to get up and head down the hall to the main room and see if _anything's_ changed. When he gets there, Tony’s still fiddling with holoscreens and muttering to himself (and JARVIS, if the replies that never seem to come from anywhere but the ceiling no matter where they are is any indication), wings jittering. Clint and Natasha are nowhere to be seen, and Sam is sitting on the couch with a tablet. Bucky decides to head over that way.

Tony Stark is _forever_ a last resort.

He catches sight of the tablet screen when he gets closer, spots what look like brain scans and long article paragraphs that twist his gut into knots and shove them up to where his heart is.

Sam glances up but doesn't do him the disservice of trying to hide it, and for that he’s grateful, and grateful that Steve’s made friends with a man who seems to care enough about him to go to Moscow with him when he's wanted by a historic cult.

It's either that, or Sam is playing a long game for Hydra, to either get James back for them or Steve or both, but they've already ruled Sam out as Hydra (even though there's a whisper in his head that sounds a lot like James telling him to not trust _any of them, not with Steve vulnerable like this_ ).

He takes a seat next to Sam a couple feet away, avoiding their feathers brushing, and pushes the bangs on the side of his face furthest from Sam back behind his ear.

"How's he doing?" Sam asks a little quietly.

Bucky stares ahead for a minute before forcing himself to look towards the hall, drawn and repulsed in almost equal measure. "About the same as before," he says quietly, trying to see Steve through the walls. It's not hard to picture him. He draws his wings a little closer to himself. "He only spoke a short sentence before he went back to staring at the wall."

He looks over to find Sam looking at the far wall now, too, then he turns his attention back to Bucky. "You got any idea what they might've done?" he asks quietly, and Bucky notices Stark’s silence, even if he can still see him fiddling out of the corner of his eye, wings still now instead of a jittery mess.

"Messed with his memories," Bucky says, keeping his voice down. It's not like Steve can't still hear them, but it feels wrong to talk any louder. "He didn't understand me and James bein' different until I explained it to him." He hears a snort from Stark's direction and ignores it, keeping his attention focused on Sam.

Sam opens his mouth after a moment to reply, but something catches Bucky's attention and his eyes dart past him, body and wings freeze and stiffening before he finds himself on his feet. "Steve," he says, a little gently.

Steve’s eyes go wide when they land on him, one hand's fingers buried in his hair, slowly letting go and sliding out. "Bucky?" he asks, sounding shocked, _younger_.

Bucky’s stomach twists up a bit more like he’s on a cliff as he watches Steve slowly, almost cautiously, take a couple of steps towards him, pretty sure he already knows where this is going. "Yeah, pal," he says, managing to pull up a small, brittle smile, "It's me."

Steve stares at him for a minute, still half dressed and hair a wreck, eyes never leaving his face. "But you..." he trails off, and Bucky tries to pull himself back from an invisible cliff, "You can't...you _fell_ ," Steve says, wincing before his hand flies to his head, wincing again after.

Bucky starts to go to him.

"You fell," Steve repeats, quieter, other hand going to his head like the first, fingertips pressing and eyes dropped to the ground, "And I was alone."

Bucky's steps stop and his stomach finally goes over that cliff, bottoming out and turning into a rage lined _hole_.

 _ **Those fucking bastards**_-

"I...I was alone," Steve grits his teeth, eyes squeezing shut and wings visibly trembling, "I was-" Steve drops into a crouch. "I _am_ alone," he corrects, and that makes Bucky move, cross the rest of the space between them and carefully crouch down in front of Steve.

"Hey," he says gently, ignoring his bangs slipping back into his face, the fact that they're being watched, "I'm here."

Steve shakes his head quickly and Bucky reaches forward, touching Steve’s bare arm gently with his right hand.

Steve flinches back slightly at the contact and Bucky yanks his hand away, something inside him burning and freezing like a flash freeze.

"Steve," he says gently, voice cracking a little.

But Steve keeps his face turned down and shrinks in on himself further like a dying star, and Bucky stays where he is and watches, forearms resting on the tops of his thighs and fingers curling into faintly trembling fists.

He stays there for two hours, until Steve unfolds himself and heads back to the room without looking at him, and when Bucky finally bothers to look around, the room is empty.

\--

Bucky fell, but he was there, but he _fell_ , Steve _saw him **fall**_ , brushed his falling away fingers with his _gloves_ -

And James-

He grips his head tightly between his hands, squeezing his eyes shut.

_"A burden," Bucky says with a smile-_

_**No.** _

That's wrong.

Bucky wouldn't-

_"Don't say that, Stevie. I won't have it. You call your wings colorless again and I'm gonna be real sour-"_

He hears a whimpering sound, strange and curved up at the end into a higher pitch, and he's distantly aware it came from him, part of him finding it strange. He's never _whimpered_ -

_"Of course they're colorless. Waste of space if you ask me-"_

Bucky wouldn't-

_"I told you not to call them that, Steve-"_

_"They are ugly-"_ A new voice, quieter.

 _"They are beautiful-"_ The same one-

_"I thought you were smaller. Steve, what did you do? You stupid-"_

_"I thought you were smaller-"_

_"Do you want to talk about your friend?-"_

_"The lips-"_

_"The feathers. I can't reach them all-"_

_"He's a monster-"_

_"You're a monster-"_

_"Captain America."_

Steve sucks in a ragged breath, eyes snapping open and unseeing, fingers buried in his hair _._

_Lukin bends down towards him and he can’t move, drugs making him sluggish and metal restraints keeping him in place. He doesn’t give Lukin the satisfaction of seeing him try to pull away. He doesn't know why that's important. Maybe it isn't._

_"Steven Grant Rogers," Lukin continues, almost musingly, "The great **Captain America** , whose strength comes from stubbornness, his friends, and sheer force of will. I wonder, what would happen if I took one of those components away?" Steve swallows a little and Lukin catches it, smile curving up further. "Would the rest topple like the ruins of an old, abandoned empire? Would you be ruined? I'm a man of science myself, and I find myself wondering." He leans back a little, taking some of the shadow cast by his wings with him._

_Part of Steve relaxes, as much as he can with the chair leaned back and his chest forced out like some horrific version of going to the barber's, but even drugged into a forced calm he knows better._

_"What are you going to do?" he asks, slow and groggy._

_Lukin signals...someone, turning his attention back to Steve. There’s the sound of keys clacking on a keyboard and then an electric hum starting up behind him. His wings give a faint twitch._

_"It is my understanding that you have gotten quite close to our Asset," Lukin says, and Steve does his best to keep his expression neutral._

_A few people move around in his periphery and he hears the machinery just behind him move, something coming down and stopping on either side of his head, and gets the brief thought that it's like being buckled into The Cyclone all over again, except **worse** -_

_"I am going to let you see what his life has been since you abandoned him in those snowy mountains," Lukin says, sounding like he’s giving Steve a **gift** \- "And I am going to topple the mind of one of the world's great **saviors**."_

_The machinery hums louder next to his ears just before clamping down, covering his left eye and blackening half of his sight before he screams-_

Hands grab onto his biceps and he shoves at the body connected to them hard enough to get them off for a moment before they're back, wings thrashing while his throat starts to ache from-

He's screaming-

"-eve!"

He shakes his head quickly, shoving his wings forward at whoever's got a hold of him and gripping onto their arms ( _one's hard and colder than the other why is that strange?_ ), voice catching briefly when his wings are pushed _back_ \- Which is strange- _**Why is it strange?**_ -

" _ **Steve!**_ " the person in front of him snaps, and he clams up, mouth snapping shut and wide eyes slowly focusing on the blur of dark colors and bright white in front of him, around him, shapes and colors solidifying into a _person_ -

"Bucky?" he rasps, trying to pull away, throat aching.

Bucky's eyes go harder as he shakes his head and it _clicks_ -

" _James_ ," he gasps, trying to pull away harder.

James carefully lets him go, arms and wings, and Steve stumbles back, back hitting the wall before he slides down it and drops to the floor, wings jerking in tightly to his sides. His eyes drop to the floor for a moment and he distractedly notices that there's some blonde strands on it. He must've ripped them out.

"Is he okay?" he hears, and his head snaps up.

Grey wings- _Sam_ is standing just inside the door, wings raised a bit and tense, red- _Natasha_ next to him and Clint (" _The lips_ -") next to her. They're all watching him warily, and it's then that he realizes he's still breathing fast (" _A burden_ ")-

He chokes in a breath.

"Steve," he hears again, softer now, quiet. His eyes jump back over to Buc- _James_ , flinching when James takes a step closer.

James stops immediately, crouching down instead. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at Steve for a minute before shifting his wings a little and standing up, slowly walking back towards the door.

Part of Steve wants to get up and follow him, the rest starts calming enough to start slowing his breathing.

"Stay with him," he hears James says quietly.

Sam raises his eyebrows.

"You sure?" he asks, but James just keeps walking, looking back once at Steve before he's passed the door frame.

Steve listens to his footsteps retreat, matching his breathing to their time.

Natasha and Clint soon follow, sharing looks between each other and Sam before they're left alone. Sam's wings shift a bit before Steve hears him take a quiet breath and slowly walk further into the room. He stops after a foot.

"You mind if I come in?" Sam asks.

Steve shakes his head a little and Sam walks over, body all slow, cautious movements and lines. He slows more the closer he gets, and Steve is grateful.

Sam takes a seat a diagonal five feet away, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He doesn't say anything for a while, just sits in silence while Steve manages to get his breathing under control, head a fragmented, splotchy mess.

_Is this how it was for Bucky and James?_

"How you feeling?" Sam asks after...a while, and Steve sags against the wall, crossing his legs and loosely grabbing his ankles.

"You know slingshots?" he asks. He glances up and catches Sam's nod. "I feel like the slung rock _and_ the rubber band."

Sam's mouth flattens before pinching and Steve lets out a soft breath, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, wings relaxing a bit.

He forces them open again when he sees Lukin's face directly above him behind his closed eyes.

"You sound more like yourself," Sam comments. Steve grimaces.

"I feel splintered," Steve says, quiet and rough, the backs of his eyes stinging. He stares up at the ceiling. " _God_ , is this what it felt like for seventy years?" he asks quietly, more to himself than to Sam.

Sam doesn't say anything, just waits, and Steve bites the inside of his lip _hard_.

They stay like that for a while, Steve’s not sure how long, just that the room is starting to get dark by the time he pulls himself out of his own head.

There’s a knock and Steve lowers his head to look forward.

"Stark wants to talk with Wilson," Clint says, leaning a little ways into the room.

Sam looks from Clint to him and Steve nods. Sam smiles reassuringly before getting up.

"Just come get me if you need anything," he says, eyes on Steve, "I'm serious."

Steve nods again and Sam nods back before walking to the door, shaking his wings out on the way there and disappearing past the door frame. Steve expects Clint to follow, but instead he walks over, sitting down against the wall next to Steve but far enough that their wings don't touch. Steve leans his head back against the wall.

"You know about Loki," Clint says after a bit, but he sounds like he's stating a fact so Steve doesn’t say anything. He does know about Loki.

"I was a real mess after Tasha got me back on track and in my own head," Clint continues, "Couldn't tell up from down, left from right. The colors were like a clown threw up on my eyes." Steve looks over and Clint has a humorless smile on his face that quickly disappears. He turns his head and looks back at Steve. "I didn't know what was real for a bit there, either."

Steve doesn’t flinch, but his fingers curl tighter around his ankles.

"We'll keep you grounded," Clint promises, and something in Steve’s chest tightens a bit.

Clint pushes himself up off of the floor after a minute and Steve watches him go, eyes dropping to the floor as he thinks those two conversations over, tries to sort through what he does and doesn't _know_.

It's a few minutes before he hears barely there footsteps, and his chest tightens and his heart does an uncomfortable flip when they stop at the door.

It's quiet for a few minutes, Steve exhausted and hyper aware of James all at once, and James finally says, soft and quiet:

"I will go, if you want."

Steve finds himself shaking his head, eyes still on the darkened floor, and it's another minute before he hears quiet footsteps start walking towards him.

They stop cautiously in front of him in his periphery, and Steve finally forces his eyes up.

James is staring down at him, gently backlit by the soft yellow glow of the hall lighting, swamped in a large black hoodie over gray sweatpants, fingers curled into the edges of the sleeves. His hair is a little messy, like he's shoved and run his fingers through it a few times, and his eyes are a myriad of emotions: anger and uncertainty and worry most prominent, the ice that makes him _him_ all lying underneath.

He slowly kneels down in front of Steve, wings twitching once faintly. He opens his mouth, but closes it again a moment later.

It's quiet, something pushing up under Steve’s chest finally making its way to his voice.

"I don’t know what's real," Steve whispers, digging his flat nails a little into the skin of his ankle.

James looks at him for a long moment before slowly reaching forward with his left hand, uncurling a set of Steve’s fingers and lacing them with his own, squeezing once.

"I know," he whispers back.

"I'm so sorry," Steve whispers again, blinking quickly a few times to try and stave off the tears.

James shakes his head a little, looking down at their hands before slowly shuffling forward on his knees. He bends his head down when his knees just barely brush Steve’s fingers, resting his forehead down against Steve's.

"I will stay," he whispers softly, and Steve can't fight the tears anymore.

\--

Clint shifts as Natasha buries her toes under his thigh, letting out a quiet grunt when the cold starts seeping through his pants to his skin. She starts to pull them back but he gently grabs one of her ankles, rubbing the inner bone with his thumb. She buries her toes back under his thigh and he knows she's got a pleased, barely there little smile on her lips like she planned the whole thing and got exactly what she wanted.

"You think they'll be alright?" Wilson asks.

"I think..." Stark says, wings jutting out briefly with a grunt in his periphery, "We're all damaged, but we manage, so they can too."

Clint pulls out his phone with his other hand while still massaging Tasha's ankle. He feels her wiggle her toes between his leg and the couch cushion and his lips pull up a little.

"That's harsh," Wilson says.

"That's life," Stark replies.

"Yeah, well," Wilson says, "What do you think?"

Tasha gives a brief, soft hum. "He will work through it."

"I hope you're right," Wilson says after a moment.

"If he can't," Stark says, "He's not the man my father thought he was."

Clint snorts. " _None_ of us would be the man your father thought we were," he replies, looking over at Stark from his phone, "Except you, maybe." He narrows his eyes in mock consideration and Stark flips him off.

Natasha wiggles her toes again like she’s pleased.


	26. I think maybe there's a hole in your soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Updates are just going to be slow until I can get a new computer. Also, I just deleted spaces between every line for the _third time_ , twice on my _tablet_. If this uploads weird I'm going to have to fix it later on said new computer that I don't have yet. Seriously I got so frustrated I just ugh. I'll keep writing but holy moly the lack of computer is really putting a damper on my style. Anyway, I hope you like the chapter, and thank you for your patience. ;-;

Awareness is a slow thing.

His chest expands and contracts, breaths slow and steady with the count of his heartbeats: one, two, one, two. There’s a weight on him- weight _s_ , comfortable and warm even while the ground is hard, familiar. The lighter weight across his waist shifts slightly, pulls him a little closer to the firm lines at his back while a breath puffs out soft against the back of his neck. He keeps himself still. Bucky needs all the sleep he can get before he leaves for work in a few hours-

His eyes snap open, stare straight ahead at an unfamiliar, dull, salmon colored wall while his mind races to put what he knows into something that makes _sense_.

He tries to keep his body relaxed.

He knows this:

His name is Steve Rogers.

This is _not_ his or Bucky's apartment in Brooklyn.

It is not 1942?

It is not 1942.

It is 2014.

Lukin-

Lukin took him.

James and Bucky got him back.

His _friends_ got him back.

They're in a house that Stark owns, on the floor in the same room from yesterday.

He's woken up like this before, when it was winter and he could never get warm-

He's _safe_.

He lets out a soft breath, letting himself relax for real.

"You alright?" he hears, low and sleep rough behind him, feels the breath against the back of his neck from the shapes of the words and a faint, involuntary shudder ripples its way down his spine.

"Yeah," he replies quietly, shifting the wing he's got across him, white feathers overlaying his black like two heavy blankets, "I just thought you had work in a few hours."

It's quiet for a minute before Bucky snorts softly into his hair, retracting his arm from around Steve’s waist.

"No," he says, "No more crate lifting for me." His wing slides up Steve's, feathers going against the grain of his as Bucky rolls away, onto his back. Steve hears him let out a breath as he sits up, wing brushing Steve’s back. "How is it? In there," Bucky asks quietly.

Steve closes his eyes for a minute.

"Murky," he settles on, sitting up after a moment with him, "It feels like 1942 and 2014 and... _nothing_ , all at the same time, like time is just...not _there_." He raises his gaze from the floor to find Bucky looking at him, brows pulled together. "Is this what it was like?" he asks, quieter, "... _Is_ like?"

Bucky's eyes drop to the floor, wings shifting briefly.

"Kind of," he says, after a minute, pushing himself up to stand, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back, wings flaring out. He pulls a hair tie out of one of the hoodie's pockets he slept in and pulls his hair back, glancing down at Steve as he finishes and brushing a wing into Steve’s face.

Steve shoves at it and Bucky grins, and then Steve’s stomach rolls with a growl that could put _James'_ growls to shame.

Bucky's grin spreads.

"Come on," he says, jerking a head and a wing towards the door.

Steve stands up and then freezes when he catches sight of some of the remaining dye on the ends of his wings flaking off - hardly any left - feet rooting to the spot.

"What is it?" Bucky asks.

Steve glances up at him, quickly to the door and then back.

Bucky's expression softens and Steve grits his teeth a little, fingers curling into light fists.

"Hey," Bucky says softly, stepping closer, "It's fine. They know."

Steve frowns a little. "I wasn't..." he trails off, taking a steadying breath, "I wasn't _me_ when they found out. I'm still not...all the way there. I'm still a mess, Buck," he finishes quietly.

Bucky's eyes go a little sad, the sadness of someone who understands which is why it doesn't set Steve's teeth on edge, before he shakes his wings out a little, smiling a little crookedly. "All of us are," he says, reaching forward to gently grip Steve’s arm, "You have nothing to be ashamed of, or embarrassed about."

Steve’s wings give a twitch as his eyes drop to the floor and he focuses on Bucky's hand on his arm, warm and familiar.

"Besides," Bucky says, and Steve looks back up. Bucky smiles cockily. "If they get mean, the big, bad wolf will protect you."

Steve stares at him for a moment before he snorts, lips involuntarily pulling up.

"What?" Bucky asks jokingly, "I was a _Howling_ Commando, and most of the time James is more animal than human. It works."

Steve snorts a small laugh and Bucky smiles triumphantly like he’s just accomplished some great feat, sliding his hand off of Steve's arm and angling himself towards the door. "What'dya say?"

Steve glances back to the door briefly before taking a breath and squaring his shoulders. Now it's Bucky who snorts.

"We're going to get food, not face a firing squad," he jokes. Steve sends him a look and Bucky just rolls his eyes good naturedly with a quirk of his lips and a brief shrug of his wings.

\--

" _What is this I see?_ " Stark asks dramatically.

Steve’s wings twitch and he's suddenly aware that he hasn't showered in...he's not sure, and he forgot to put a shirt on, and his wings-

He keeps walking next to Bucky and forces his wings still, trying to focus instead on the sour look on Bucky's face.

"Can it, Stark," Bucky orders, leading them to the kitchen.

Natasha and Clint aren't around, not yet anyway, and Steve scans around for Sam before he picks up the sound of a toilet flushing down the other hall.

Tony raises his hands and wings a little in mock surrender, eyes darting across to the other hall.

"Hey, Wilson!" he calls, "Your boy's up!"

Bucky sends Tony a dark look while pulling a large container of what smells like chicken out of the fridge, and Sam walks out a few moments later.

"Heey, Steve," he says, face lighting up a bit and wings raising a little, "How you feeling?"

Sam's probably the only person Steve knows who could ask him that and not make him sick of it. Even Bucky slides into the _driving-me-nuts_ territory after so many times-

He shakes his wings out a little, trying to smooth out the snag in his thoughts.

"A little better," he says, watching Bucky sniff at a container then reel back with a disgusted look. "I think," he adds. He hears Stark snort quietly and watches Sam give Tony a warning look while Bucky's feathers ruffle up a bit.

"That's good," Sam says honestly, giving him a small smile, "It might take a little while, but I think things will settle back in with time."

"That or he'll develop a _killer_ personality," Stark mumbles.

Bucky slams a container down on the counter.

"You-" he starts.

"Heeeeey, look who it is," Clint cuts him off, coming through the back door with Natasha right behind him, "You're looking better."

Steve offers him small smile. He can feel Natasha's eyes rove over him. She doesn’t say anything, and he's not sure if that's a good sign or not.

"Hey, Barnes, is there any pizza in there?" Clint asks, redirecting Bucky's attention. It’s so smooth, Steve could almost believe it if he didn’t know better.

Bucky glances Clint's way briefly, looking back at where Stark's looking at _him_ before turning back to the food containers. "Not that I saw," he replies a little lowly, "Steve, help me with these?"

Steve helps Bucky carry what turns out to be seven, large containers over to the large dining table, helps Bucky get the lids off.

It's...

"What day is it?" Steve asks, brow furrowing.

Bucky looks up, frowning briefly before looking down at the food, his expression clearing. "Shit," he says, caught off guard, looking around at the others, "Is it that time already?"

"Yup," Clint replies, snagging some cut turkey out of a container.

Steve looks around at them as well before turning to Sam, ignoring a soft complaint from his stomach. "I'm sorry, Sam."

Sam shakes his head a little with a smile, taking a slice of turkey too. "Nah, I was expecting it," he says before chewing, face scrunching up a bit before swallowing. "Stark, you cook this?" he asks, looking over.

Tony snorts indignantly, "I'll have you know-" he starts haughtily, "No, I didn’t. Is it bad?" he asks, sounding mildly curious, expression losing the theatrics.

Natasha tries a piece of turkey for herself, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "Store bought," she declares, "Pre-made."

Sam makes an offended face in Tony’s direction while Clint picks up the container. "Well if _you_ guys don't want it."

Tony shrugs his wings while Bucky nicks two slices before Clint can take the whole thing over to the couch, handing one to Steve. "Weirdest Thanksgiving yet," he declares, taking a bite. Steve does too.

A memory quickly floats to the surface and he hums thoughtfully. "Even that time-"

"Yup," Bucky answers before he can finish, going over to a kitchen drawer and digging out two spoons, pushing it closed and handing one to Steve. "Even then," he says, sitting down at the table and digging into the mashed potatoes.

"They're _cold_ ," Sam says indignantly.

Steve gets a spoonful himself while Bucky pulls the spoon out of his mouth with a loud _smack_ of his lips.

"Eaten worse," he declares, going for another spoonful.

" _Hey, hey, hey_ ," Sam says quickly, pulling the container away before Bucky's spoon can reach it, " _Plate_."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "But _dad_ ," he whines over dramatically. Clint snorts a laugh from the couch while Natasha’s lips curve up.

Sam clucks his tongue. "Nope," he says, "None for _either_ of you until you go get plates." He gives them both a _look_ and Bucky grumbles as he pushes himself up from the table and trudges back to the kitchen.

"So tell me about this _alien invasion_ ," Bucky says once he’s seated again and both he and Steve have plates in front of them both full of microwave heated food.

Steve looks over and on the outside Bucky only looks mildly curious, but Steve can see the excitement in his eyes.

\--

"-and it's a real mess," Tony says from a chair down, sitting at the table with them, "Thor comes out of _nowhere_ looking for his long lost, bag of cats brother," Bucky raises an eyebrow at Steve and Steve just quirks his lips, shaking his head a little, "And none of us are getting along." Tony grins and nudges a wing into Steve’s and Steve tries not to flinch, eyes darting around subtly.

His wings.

He'd actually _forgotten_.

Clint's migrated back to the table, working on depleting the green olive jar with Natasha while Sam looks at Tony in a little bit of wonder.

Bucky was right.

It's... _okay_.

"Thor," Bucky says, leaning forward a little on his arms crossed on top of the table, "Lightning."

"The one and only," Clint chimes in.

Bucky looks at him and then Steve before shifting his gaze back to Tony when he continues.

"Right. ' _For Asgard_ ', all of that," Tony says, waving a hand and weaving a wing dismissively, "Steve here finds S.H.I.E.L.D.'s 'Phase Two' Hydra weapons-" Bucky sits up straighter, sending a sharp look to Steve, but Tony waves a hand again to dismiss it. It's actually helping, hearing his memories confirmed and spoken aloud by someone else who was there, someone outside of the fog maze of his head.

" _Just_ before my program finishes hacking S.H.I.E.L.D.'s database and _right_ before Fury walks in, because he's too impatient to wait," Tony says, "And then we argue and one of the engines gets _blown_ -"

Steve catches Clint's wings twitching once faintly. Clint's expression stays relaxed and Steve finds himself relating. The things he did, the new blood on his hands put there _without_ his _consent_ -

He hasn’t dreamt of their faces yet, but he knows he will.

"Then _hacked_ and all of the _engines_ shut down while _Loki **escapes**_ -"

"I think you're forgetting a part," Clint cuts Tony off, expression still relaxed, but the tension in the room crept up to noticeable.

Tony’s eyebrows draw together for a moment before his expression clears and he darts his eyes from Steve to Bucky then back to Clint. "I didn't think it was worth mentioning," he says casually, but Steve can hear underneath that it's a little strained.

What did he mis-

Oh.

Steve darts his eyes to Bucky to find _his_ brow furrowed now, darting looks between Steve, Clint, and Tony. "What was it?" he asks.

Steve meets Natasha’s eyes and opens his mouth to try and stop the avalanche headed their way, but Clint says-

"Oh, nothing. Just that words were exchanged and, I wasn't there, but the videos _clearly_ show Stark telling Steve...Now what was it...Oh. Right," he says, like he’s just remembered, but his expression is flat, "' _Everything special about you came out of a bottle_ '."

The room goes silent as Bucky’s eyes snap over to Tony, the tension rocketing up like the sudden build of a soon to be exploding volcano.

" _You what_ ," Bucky says flatly, wings completely still.

Tony clears his throat, eyes on the table as he worries at its surface with a few fingernails. "I may have said something under the heightened influence of a piece of alien technology-" he tries on a rush.

Steve looks at Natasha briefly who inclines her head slightly and he catches Sam's wide eyes darting between the three of them.

"Hey, JARVIS," Clint says, "Pull up the video."

Tony’s eyes jump up to his, slightly frantic, and he gets out a, " _JARVIS_ -" before a screen materializes above the center of the table.

And there's the lab inside the helicarrier before the invasion, everyone arguing for all of them to see.

It's a mess of noise at first, all of them talking at once with a strange sort of low hum coming from the scepter, then the arguments break off with Fury leading the way and they become distinct.

Then it's him and Tony and-

" _You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero."_

 _"A hero? Like you? You're a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a **bottle**_."

Silence.

They all look to Bucky.

Bucky stares at the video for a long moment, fingers curling and uncurling into fists on top of the table. Finally, he looks at Tony.

"Do I need to call my armor?" Tony asks, mostly serious, eyes trained on Bucky.

Bucky stares at him for a long moment before saying, "I'm not going to kill you, Stark."

Sam doesn't look convinced, neither does _Natasha_ , for that matter. Clint's got this sort of amused, neutral expression on his face and Steve’s heart is in his throat.

Because what if Tony was right? That memory had been muddled until the video, but what if Steve really-

"But James might," Buck says then, grabbing the knife next to his plate suddenly and bringing it down on his right hand.

The change is immediate.

Bucky's head lowers a little and his wings grow a bit stiffer, back righting itself almost perfectly straight. He blinks and it's James looking back, eyes shifting to Steve first before noticing the video on loop.

Everyone's still stunned, but Tony, naturally, catches on the quickest and shoves back quickly from his chair, running for the other end of the table while shouting, " _JARVIS, deploy-!_ "

James practically _pounces_ across the table, using his wings to push himself faster. Pieces of Tony's suit come flying from _somewhere_ and he gets the pelvis section and a foot on before James is _on him_ , knocking the rest of the pieces away as they come with his left hand while he pushes Tony’s face into the hardwood floor with his right hand on the back of Tony's skull, blood seeping down into his hair.

" _Wait! **Wait!**_ " Tony lets out, half muffled and wings thrashing. James shoves them down with his own with a growl and Tony goes completely still, like a self defense survival mechanism used by smaller animals around more dangerous ones in the wild. "Explain it to him, Cap?" he asks, grunting when James pushes him down further, " _Please_."

James looks over his shoulder at Steve then and Steve draws his wings in a little closer to his sides, eyes dragging up to the video of their own accord. He can see the others in his periphery, knows Sam is the most tense Steve thinks he's seen him - that he can _remember_ seeing him - that Clint's worried now, no longer any traces of amused, and that Natasha is coiled to strike if need be, even though she _looks_ relaxed.

"I didn't know Tony then," Steve says, frowning a little, "I still don't, but it's more, now." He pauses for a moment, eyes finding their way back to James.

James stares back, waiting.

"If it helps," Tony muffles, grunting again when James shifts and digs his knee a little further into Tony's back, "I think I can solve your split personality problem. I know a guy," he grunts when James presses down on him harder, "You can trust me on this," he finishes, sing-song, giving a thumbs up.

Everyone stares.

" _Doctor Who_ , anyone?" Tony asks, "No?"

James turns his head to look at Steve again, stares at him for a long, studying minute before eventually turning his head back around and shoving roughly at Tony’s with something muttered harshly in Russian as he rises up, feathers ruffled up like an angry bird, but no one dares a laugh.

Tonly lets out a long sigh of relief while James shakes his feathers out and walks over to Steve.

" _Seriously?_ " Tony asks incredulously after standing back up, "Rogers and Robocop I get, but _none_ of you have seen _Doctor Who?_ "

Clint crosses his arms while Sam shakes his head with a shrug of his wings, eyes still a little wide. Natasha doesn't indicate anything one way or the other.

Steve leans his head back a little as James comes to a stop next to him and slides his fingers through Steve’s hair, closing his eyes halfway and letting James' fingers ease some of his tension.

JARVIS dematerializes the video.

"That's it," Tony announces, "I'm staging an intervention."

Steve looks up at James to find icy, blue-gray already looking down at him.

\--

He'd managed to sit through one episode.

But it's loud inside, with them.

Not in the way of noise, but...space taken, personalities filling the room, all of theirs crowding him out when he’s only standing on one foot, the other still lost in a void of pain and Lukin's face and a chair full of electricity-

It's quieter out here.

The gray clouds that formed together like an all consuming bruise in the sky finally let out their burden, and he stays seated where he is without cover and lets the rain wash over him while he stares straight ahead at the shed and forestry making up the view.

He's soaked by the time he hears faint footsteps, even in the rain, the slightest crush of leaves underfoot. His pants cling to his skin like it's their savior.

The raindrops hitting his head stop, and after a moment, he looks up.

James is standing just next to his shoulder, one large, white wing spread out over Steve’s head, blocking the rain while _James_ gets soaked.

James doesn’t look at him.

He's got a wrap around his right hand.

Steve wants to kiss him.

He looks back straight ahead.

"You think Tony knows someone who can really help?" Steve asks quietly after...a while. James is silent for a moment.

"He wasn't lying," he says, just as quiet, and it's not hard for Steve’s ears to pick up his voice, even with the sound of the water hitting the metal pieces of the house, "He believed what he said."

Steve doesn’t say anything to that, ruminating it over for another unknown amount of time. It's easier than having to face the slowly filling gaps in his head.

James shifts, just slightly, at some point, and Steve looks over to see a hand held out to him. He stares at it for a long minute before finally taking it and letting himself be pulled up and led back into the house.

Clint and Natasha are gone again. Sam's in the kitchen talking quietly with Tony, both of them going quiet as they look over. Sam offers him a smile while Tony’s eyes shift to James, but James just keeps walking and Steve doesn’t feel like stopping, uncaring for the water getting all over the floor as they head down the hall and back into the room they've both seemed to have claimed for their own.

James leads him to the bathroom, letting go of his hand and walking back out. Steve starts undoing his pants while listening to dresser drawers open and close, bending down to push them off.

When he straightens back up, James is standing just past the doorway, eyes slowly moving back up to Steve’s face. Steve swallows a little, something starting to coil in his gut. James steps in to set the clothes he's gathered on the sink before moving to step back out, and Steve’s not sure when he moved, but he's got a hand on James' wrist, stopping him.

James freezes, wings stiffening, and Steve slowly, carefully lets go. They stare at each other for a moment before James turns around, and Steve feels something both sharp and dull a little like a void in his chest before he realizes James is closing the bathroom door, but not leaving, so Steve turns around and walks over to open the large shower's door and step in to turn the water on.

He looks over his shoulder at the sound of a zipper just in time to see James pushing his own pants down, soaked shirt and bandage already off and discarded. Steve drags his own eyes back up as James steps out of them, that same something coiling tighter in his gut when their eyes meet.

It's not that he doesn't know what it is. Even now, as messed up as he is, the uncomfortable feelings associated with arousal seem to have ebbed, but now, he's...

The sound of the shower door closing drags him out of his head and he turns his eyes back forward, wings twitching faintly once.

He steps under one of the main streams of water and holds his breath, trying not to think of the waste of it, all this water. The future has so much and so little, and wasted things seem to be a main, companion part of the former.

He lets his breath out slow, wings sagging a bit at his back as some of the constant tension he's had in his shoulders bleeds away, gradually becoming hyper aware that James is standing behind him, of the sound of water hitting James' body just a couple feet back, soft on the metal like the rain outside still hitting the house.

He scrubs his hands over his face before pushing them up through his wet hair and back, lifting his head and opening his mouth. The water hitting his teeth is loud inside his head, forces the sounds of his thoughts out. He closes his mouth after the water's started overflowing and spits it out and turns around.

James has got his head leaned back under one of the top sprays, eyes closed and water sliding down the long line of his neck, dark strands of his hair curled a little at the base of it, stark against his skin. His eyes crack open and find Steve’s, and Steve’s cock twitches; he swallows again. James leans his head back down and looks at him for a minute, taking a cautious step forward, then walking closer when Steve doesn’t flinch or move away, eyes on his the whole time.

He stops a few inches away, close enough for Steve to feel the heat coming off of his body, feel James' breath fog across his lips, mind fogging over in its own way.

They look at each other for a minute, just watching one another before Steve sways closer and James meets him in the middle.

It's heady, somehow, their lips locking and sliding together, slow, in no hurry. Steve hears a faint sound and only realizes it came from him when James' body moves closer, gently but firmly pushing his back.

Steve’s steps are slow but he goes, hands moving up to almost hesitantly grip James' shoulders, the flesh warm and the metal room temperature under his palms.

His back finally finds a wall, bumping gently, cool against his skin, and he gasps quietly with it. James changes the angle of the kiss, makes it deeper and brushes his tongue across Steve’s lower lip. Steve opens his mouth and lets it in, making another sound when James' hands find his hips, hands just as cautious as Steve’s, slowly sliding metal up Steve' side when he doesn't pull away. Steve shifts and their cocks brush and they both _groan_. James is _hard_.

James slides his right hand down lower, along the side of Steve’s thigh before hooking his hand around the back of it, pausing for a moment before lifting it up when Steve doesn’t pull away, the inside of his knee coming to rest at James' hip.

James breaks the kiss, breath puffing hot against Steve's mouth. "I want..." he trails off, voice rough and low, shifting to get his cock down below Steve’s balls and pressing their hips flush together, pulling Steve’s leg a little further past his hip so his cock brushes Steve’s ass. They both _groan_ again and Steve tightens his grip on James' shoulders, letting out a puff of air when his cock rubs a little against the hard planes of James' stomach.

 _God_ , Steve thinks, most of him wants to, _too_.

He tries to think past the haze in his head, looks to find James' eyes half glazed over while feeling his cock shift in small motions against Steve's ass, their wings taught and twitching faintly with their arousal. He leans his head forward to press his forehead to James' and James stops, closing his eyes and letting out a breath.

James' hand gently slides up Steve's leg to grip gently above Steve’s hip, eyes squeezing shut before he's burying his face into the side of Steve’s neck and taking in a long, slow breath. Steve can feel James' heart beating fast where their chests press together, closes his own eyes and listens to his own.

They don't move for a while, and eventually their cocks start to soften again and Steve’s mind starts to clear and it becomes a little easier to breathe. He slides his hand up to stroke his fingers down the back of James' head and James shifts it, Steve feeling lips press soft to the side of his neck.

Steve slowly lowers his leg when James starts to pull back, wet bangs framing his face as he looks into Steve’s eyes. "Can I wash your hair?" he asks softly.

Steve cracks a smile, maybe the first one since they got to the house, and James meets him for a chaste kiss before reaching for the shampoo bottle on the small ledge to the side, wings curving in towards Steve.

Steve overlaps James' with his own.

\--

"So who's this 'guy'? And why didn't you mention him earlier," Bucky says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Probably so he had a way to get out of either of you killing him," Clint snarks as he sits back down on the couch with a mug of coffee. Natasha sips her tea while Sam gives a thoughtful nod. Tony’s feathers ruffle up indignantly.

"I was _going_ to bring it up," he defends, "But then we all got sucked into the holiday atmosphere and started talking about- Nevermind," he cuts himself off quickly when Steve gives him a pointed look. He can practically _feel_ Bucky glaring with James' level of intensity right next to him. "Point is, I was _planning_ on bringing it up," Tony continues, "But the thing is, I'm not _one-hundred percent sure_ the guy can do what I was thinking."

Bucky raises an unimpressed eyebrow. "Then why bring it up? And what exactly were you thinking he could-"

"Give you your own body," Tony cuts him off. Bucky goes silent while Steve sits up a little straighter, all eyes on Tony. "And because, if _anyone_ could do it, it'd be him."

It's silent for a long minute. Steve looks over and Bucky’s staring intently at Tony.

"How," Bucky finally demands.

Tony shrugs his wings. " _He_ calls it magic-" Bucky scoffs and Tony rolls his eyes. " _I_ call it science we haven't figured out yet. Like _Asgardian_ 'magic'. Same type of thing."

Bucky seems to chew that over for a minute, glancing over at Steve. "What do you think?"

"It's not up to me," Steve replies. Bucky gives him a look and Steve sighs. "Thor told me a little about Jane Foster's trip to Asgard," he starts.

Bucky's brows draw together and Clint supplies, "Thor's really smart, science girlfriend."

Steve nods once in confirmation before continuing, ignoring Tony’s, "He told _you?_ Why not _me?_ "

"But basically, apparently Asgard is far more advanced than Earth, and Jane was able to recognize some of the components of their magic," and it's strange saying the word and meaning it, "With her background in science. So what Asgard, Thor, Loki call magic, may actually just be far more advanced science."

"If you can’t believe it as one," Sam starts.

"Believe it as the other," Steve finishes, keeping his eyes on Bucky. Bucky frowns a bit, but he's listening. "So if you both want to try it..."

Bucky frowns a little more, eyes dropping to the couch. "What if something goes wrong," he says quietly, "What if something happens and I disappear?" he looks back up, "Or James? Maybe even both of us."

Steve swallows, ignores the eyes he can feel on the two of them in the silent room. Not even the sound of a wing twitch.

"It's not up to me," he makes himself say, eyes on Bucky, because it's true.

Bucky looks at him for a long moment, that familiar worry line between his brows. "Stark," he finally says, voice steady and eyes never leaving Steve’s,  "I need to borrow a secure laptop."

"Uh..." Steve hears Tony say, "Sure-"

" _Sir_ ," JARVIS says from the ceiling. They all habitually look up. " _Mr. Lukin is on the line_."

Bucky's eyes widen with Steve's and everyone sits up straighter.

"Took him long enough," Tony says almost carelessly, "I was wondering when he'd come crying. Put him through."

A screen materializes in front of just Tony and Steve lets out a faint breath, gripping Bucky's hand when Bucky's finds his. Lukin's face appears on the screen, visible to them through the transparency of it.

"Lukin!" Tony greets mock-jovially, "What kept you?"

" _I had some things to take care of_ ," Lukin replies easily, _ominously_. Natasha and Clint both narrow their eyes.

"More important than _me?_ " Tony asks, a hand flying to his arc reactor, "I'm _hurt_."

Lukin's lips curve briefly but it's a slightly sarcastic thing. " _I've called to issue one final demand_."

"Final? That sounds very...final," Tony says. Clint rolls his eyes. Tony flings a wing in his direction off screen and Clint muffles a squawk. "Giving up on your lost soldier?" Bucky's wings stiffen and Steve squeezes his hand tighter. After a moment, Bucky squeezes his back.

Lukin feigns a disappointed sigh. " _Much work was put into our finest weapon. I must admit, if it does not return this time, I will be disappointed that it had to be retired_."

Steve frowns and feels a wing brush against his.

"So what's this 'demand'?" Tony asks, leaning back comfortably against the couch, arms spreading out across the back.

" _Either it returns, or we take its replacement_."

Tony frowns briefly before it sinks in and Bucky shifts forward a little so he's more in front of Steve.

"Cap," Tony concludes, frowning again, "I thought you said that'd take years."

" _Sacrifices must be made, Mr. Stark, as I'm sure you learned in the 'Battle for New York',_ " Tony’s wings stiffen but the rest of him remains casual, relaxed, " _And I have no doubt that it would be worth the hard work_."

"You can't even get your _soldier_ ," Tony dismisses, "What makes you think you can get _Captain America?_ "

Lukin's lips curve again and Steve’s wings stiffen, Bucky gripping his hand almost painfully tight.

" _Did you think all we did was tamper with his memories?_ " Lukin asks. Steve’s blood freezes, along with everyone else in the room. " _And, I am willing to bet that you have not had him checked, not properly, because any way to do it would involve being out in public, where we would be alerted. No, you have not even checked your good Captain for the bomb waiting inside his head_."

He can feel eyes on him but all he can see is Lukin's face hovering over him, people standing in a room, bone crushing beneath his hands while people scream-

" _S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Triskelion building, Mr. Stark_ ," Lukin says, " _Ten am sharp, one day from now. I will give you that long to say your goodbyes_."

The call ends and the screen dematerializes.

The sound of something _tear_ ing makes him jerk and his eyes jump over to find Bucky dropping a piece of the couch to the ground, wings and body tense and angry.

"Damn," Tony’s says to himself, pushing up from the couch, "He's right. We can't get Steve checked without going somewhere we'll be spotted, and that's not factoring in if we need to go somewhere _else_ to get whatever he did to Steve _removed_."

"Any ideas what it could be?" Sam asks.

"A trigger," Natasha supplies, frowning a little, "Either to kill all of us, government officials, himself. It could just be to shut his mind down for an hour, a week, or permanently. It could be anything."

"So he's a ticking bomb waiting to go off," Clint says, "And we can't dismantle it."

They all look to him and Steve looks numbly back, screams still echoing in his head-

Something white comes around in front of him and he feels like he's been freed to take a breath, strings cut, so he does. He looks over and Bucky looks back, giving his hand a firm squeeze.

He didn't even notice Bucky's initial grip had let up enough to do that.

"Stark," Bucky says thoughtfully, looking away from Steve to the other side of the room, past the wing blocking Steve's view, "I need that laptop."

There’s a thoughtful silence before Tony asks, "Will a tablet do?"

\--

Bucky finds him, later, after being holed up in the bedroom for an hour and calling Tony in from down the hall halfway through, who just got back to the living room ten minutes ago.

Bucky smells faintly like something burned while he was in there, but Steve keeps his eyes on the view of the backyard outside the large row of windows, lights turned down inside to see it better. There's the glow of bright, white-blue holoscreens about ten feet to the right on the glass and the occasional sound of Tony muttering to JARVIS or himself.

"We came up with a plan," Bucky says quietly, taking a seat next to him on the floor.

It's quiet for a minute after that, nothing else apparently forthcoming, so Steve says, "But you can't tell me." He hears Bucky huff out a sigh. It's answer enough.

"How are you doing?" Bucky asks quietly, after another minute of them just staring out the windows.

"Fine," Steve says automatically. A wing shoves into his and he lets it move him a little, ducking his head slightly. "I'll be fine if we can all get out of this alive," he says, quieter. He feels a prickle on the side of his face and keeps his own eyes forward. He's not sure what it is, whether it's because of what's going on, because he and James almost-...but there's a tension between him and Bucky he can’t place. He's not sure what to do with it.

The prickle slides away.

"Steve?" Bucky asks, "Do you remember asking me if I felt anything after you kissed me on the plane?"

For a moment, all Steve hears is 'plane' and thinks Bucky means the plane Steve _crashed_ , but then the memory surfaces and just like that, he's terrified. He thinks he might know why.

He could lie, but part of him wants to know where this is going.

"Yeah," he says steadily, trying to keep his wings still.

"I slept with 13 again, after we got back," Bucky says, and it almost throws him, because it's so out of left field.

He decides to stay quiet and wait.

"I..." Bucky trails off, wings shifting slightly. Steve chances a quick glance to see him frowning a little at the window. "I like her a lot. Hell, I think I'd like to go steady," he says, trying for light, "But there’s also..." he trails off again, and after a moment, Steve looks over.

Bucky looks back, brows drawn together like he’s trying to work something out and bangs pushed back behind his ears, the rest of his hair pulled back in a ponytail. "I think..." his lips pull down a little, and then he's leaning forward, slow enough for Steve to stop him but Steve finds himself rooted in place.

Their lips meet, just a firm press of them, and Steve only just gets his eyes closed before Bucky's pulling back and opening his back up to look at Steve, studying his face.

"Was that weird?" he asks. Now Steve’s lips pull down a little, thinking it over. "You're my family, Steve," Bucky says, softer, "I'd die for you. I _have_. I've killed for you and I still will. I'm not saying you owe me nothing, just...I don’t-" he huffs out a frustrated breath, reaching forward to grab the back of Steve’s neck. "Stop me if this is too weird."

He pulls Steve forward and their lips meet again, and it's not just pressing this time.

The tip of Bucky's tongue presses to the seam of his mouth, a question, and Steve parts his lips, half hesitant, half curious, and Bucky’s tongue slips inside. Steve brushes theirs together, still hesitant and curious, part of him feeling confused and part of him finding it...

Like with almost everything else, Bucky doesn't kiss like James.

Bucky's tongue slides slow, curves around his before slowly, curiously, mapping out the contours of Steve’s mouth, the sharper, rougher textures of his teeth, but it's not curious the way James' sometimes still is, nor does it feel like the same kind of slow.

Bucky knows what he’s doing, it seems only the shape of Steve’s mouth is the unfamiliar part, letting out a quiet huff of breath when his tongue has to stretch farther than he's used to ( _farther than a woman's_ , _Steve_ _thinks_ ), adjusting the angle of the kiss twice before he finds something more comfortable to what his tongue is doing. Steve huffs his own breath out of his nose against Bucky's face and feels Bucky's warm hand cup his jaw, adjusting that, too, until he's comfortable.

Bucky starts to pull back and Steve slides his tongue along Bucky's as it slips out of his mouth, listening to Bucky's breath and keeping his eyes closed for a moment after there's a little bit of space between their faces.

He finally opens them, sees Bucky's eyes dilated a bit and alight like he’s discovered something.

"Huh," Bucky says softly, half breath and with a little wonder, "What do you know."

Steve stares at him, trying to come to his own conclusions, but part of him agrees, the other part-

Bucky frowns a little, sliding his hand from Steve’s cheek as they both reach the same thought. "You don’t think it's because James..." he trails off.

Steve frowns a little, too, thinking it over. "I don’t...think?" he ends on a question, sitting back up straight, "His feelings might...Maybe have made it seem possible? But I don't..."

"Yeah," Bucky agrees, looking to the window in thought, "Yeah. Maybe."

Getting involved with James might have changed things, and Steve’s pretty sure that and James' feelings, and Steve’s feelings for James, haven't influenced anything, but he can't be completely sure.

They sit in silence for a minute, both staring out the glass.

"You think he'll be mad at me?" Steve asks quietly. He does feel...like maybe he shouldn't have, but he also...

Bucky lets out a, " _Ha!_ You?" he asks. Steve looks over and Bucky smirks a little back. "No. Me?" He looks to the ceiling and Steve rolls his eyes. "I'll only get away with not being skinned because we have to share a body. Although..." he trails off, and Steve looks back over, "I wouldn't put it past him." Steve shoves him with a wing.

Bucky laughs a little before looking back at Steve, saying seriously, "But don't...don't let this get between you two." Steve looks over at him. "You're happy, with him, and he may not be my favorite person, but...I know he's happy with you. And I know he hasn't had much of that...ever." Steve stares at him and Bucky shifts a little. "I'm not saying stay with him if you don't want to just because of it, just..."

"I know, Buck," Steve says softly. Bucky relaxes a little. "Maybe we can work something out, if he wants to. If _you_ want to."

Bucky looks at the ground. "And you?" he asks, looking back up, "13? I need to talk to her. I don't know what we're doing exactly, but we can't just have one big orgy." He looks to the side in thought. "Maybe she _could_ come up here and join our little Howling Commandos 2.0, though."

Steve snorts a laugh, and it feels good. "Maybe," he agrees, and tries not to say anything more.

Bucky sighs, leaning back on his hands and looking over at Steve. "You and me, huh."

Steve shrugs a wing. "Guess so. 'Till the end of the line."

Bucky cracks an open smile before looking out the window thoughtfully, brows drawing together a little. "Wonder if our ma's ever saw _that_ coming."

Steve makes a quiet, strangled sound. "I sure hope not," he jokes.

Bucky looks back at him and grins the way he used to charm dames from a mile away and without saying a word.

Steve suddenly finds himself glad it never had the same effect on him back then.

Now, however.

Steve shoves Bucky with a wing again and listens to his laugh, finds traces of a boy from 1935 in it.

And Steve finds he can remember that boy clear as day.


	27. Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas babes. <3

_They step back, white coats shifting and fluttering around their knees. Something about them is familiar. A hospita-_

_"Mr. Lukin?" One of them asks, voice tremulous. Scared._

_"Sir, what is going on?" Another._

_"Why is he-" **Another.**_

_Fingers snap. Lukin opens his mouth-_

_White noise. He hears-_

_"You have your orders, Soldier." A voice. Stronger than you. Stronger than you've been since-_

_"Sir, what are-"_

_Blood on your wrist._

_The man gurgles, wide eyes slowly, wobbly dragging down to see-_

_You pull your hand out of his chest, stop halfway and numbly slide it back in while the man makes a choked noise._

_He makes a surprised one when your fingers find his spine._

_A woman screams._

_It hurts your head, sharp and jarring and piercing like a blade, reminds you of someone falli-_

_Her head comes off easy, easier still to tear flesh and bone, and you wonder if you were made for this._

_Her blood sprays hits the wall in an arching streak-_

_( **And you think that you were, just like** -)_

Steve wakes with a gasp, eyes darting frantically in the dark and wings so tense there's cramps forming near his spine-

Something brushes his wing and he barely registers the quiet curse as he moves, straddling whoever it is in a blink, hand tight around their throat-

" _Steve_ -" they choke out- They-

" _Bucky!_ " Steve says on a rush of breath, yanking his hand away from Bucky's neck and quickly climbing off of him, "I'm sorry! _I thought_ -"

"It's fine," Bucky says as he sits up, rubbing at his throat with his right hand while his wings shift at his back, "We all have nightmares, Stevie."

Steve bites his lips together, fingers clenching and unclenching.

It's quiet for a minute.

"I should sleep somewhere else," Steve blurts, wings twitchy. Even in the dark, when he looks over, Bucky's got the most mixed expression on his face: grief, fear, _worry_ -

Bucky pats the floor beside himself before laying back down and rolling over onto his side, facing Steve. "Get down here," he says, gentle.

It takes a minute, but Steve lays on his side, facing him, wings pulled in tight to his back, trembling faintly.

Bucky doesn’t ask if Steve's okay, if he needs to talk, just pulls Steve close and slowly lowers his wing across the two of them, careful like Steve’s made of bird bones and bad lungs again. He pulls Steve in for a kiss, their noses bumping awkwardly first, and smooths his fingers through some of Steve’s hair before pulling away and just looking at him, expression a little puzzled in the dark.

Steve's still not sure if he liked the kiss or not.

\--

"You want to bring Agent 13 into this?" Clint asks, surprised and then thoughtful.

"Who's Agent 13?" Sam asks, looking between them.

"She was assigned to protect Steve," Bucky says. Tony snorts and Bucky rolls his eyes.

"She the one you went to see?" Sam asks, not unkindly.

Bucky's wings shift a little, glancing at Steve.

Steve smiles a little, just to let Bucky know he understands, why he left after a few hours of Steve lost in his head staring at a wall.

Bucky looks back to Sam and nods. "Yeah."

"She's a skilled agent," Natasha says, drawing their attentions. She leans back a little. "And she's not Hydra. She'll be useful."

"We could use the help," Steve adds.

They all look to Tony.

Tony stares back between the five of them, rolling his eyes after a minute and throwing his hands up, raising his wings a bit with them. "Fine. Whatever. Robo 1.0's girlfriend can join our little band and come to our secret club house."

Sam snorts and Clint grins at Bucky, who jabs a wing at him.

\--

"Hey, Buck?" Steve asks softly, once they've all moved to their own corners. Sam's on his tablet on the couch while Natasha’s gone to meet Agent 13, Clint accompanying at a distance to make sure they aren't followed. Tony’s trying to get a hold of the man he said could help.

"Yeah?" Bucky asks, keeping his voice down with Steve's, eyes glancing around once before landing back on him.

"I need to talk to James," Steve says, quieter. Bucky's wings tense but he nods, licking his lips quick before reaching forward to pull Steve into a kiss.

Steve’s not sure what causes it like last time, what makes James take over this time when he hadn't when Bucky kissed him last night. Maybe it's the pace, how deep it goes, but the kiss changes and Steve didn't realize he was tense until he finds himself relaxing into it, wings sagging a little at his back as he reaches over to pull James closer with a hand at his waist. The tension returns when he pulls away. James looks back, eyebrows pulled down together a little, something in his eyes saying he _knows_.

"Bucky and I-" Steve tries. Can't. "I don't- It's-"

James pulls him closer with his own hand on Steve’s hip, coiling it around his lower back and kissing him again, saving Steve from his fumbles. But-

"I don’t think I-" Steve tries to say, but can't finish because James just kisses him again, "I don’t-" James pulls him closer, snapping a wing out when Stark makes a gagging noise and pulling them flush together, blocking them from view with the wing even as they both hear footsteps get lighter as Sam and Tony leave the room with Sam's quiet, " _Come on, Stark_." James presses him back against the large glass window and a shudder darts down Steve’s spine at the contrast, James hot all along his front and the glass cool at his back. Steve shifts his wings forward, _around_ them.

" _James_ ," he groans, wrapping his other arm around the back of James' s shoulders and pulling him impossibly close, spreading his legs.

James steps between them while changing the angle of the kiss, grinding his hips and hardening cock into Steve’s through their jeans while his tongue slips into Steve’s mouth, and they both groan. James reaches up briefly to pull his hair tie out, pulling too rough and Steve hears it snap, letting it drop to the floor before sliding the hand up under Steve's shirt, making Steve’s stomach muscles jump with a groan. He slides his tongue out of Steve’s mouth and Steve misses it.

"I don't like sharing," James says lowly, eyes on his and sending another shudder up Steve's spine for a completely different reason. James grinds into him again, harder, and massages one of Steve’s pecs with his hand, leaning his head down to lick and bite and suck at the side of his neck, up to just below his ear. Steve’s hips jerk against James' with a moan, wings shuddering. James' moves his forward, overlap his own, faintly trembling wings with Steve's. "But I want you," he groans low into Steve’s ear, still moving his hips brutally hard and slow against Steve's, "If that's the only way..." Steve slides his fingers up into the back of James' hair and tilts his head up, kissing him _hard_.

They haven't really said it, but he-

James slides his hand around to Steve’s back between the glass, between his _wings_ and _rubs_ -

Steve's hips jerk again with his wings and another moan, and he grips hard on James' hair, his orgasm taking him by surprise and spilling in his jeans.

James' groans into Steve’s mouth, hips grinding into his sharply three more times and then he's shuddering with a breathy groan and jerking wings, breaking the kiss and pressing his forehead to the space between Steve’s neck and shoulder. Steve listens to James' panting mixing with his own as James' grinding eases off to a stop.

They stay that way for a bit, Steve letting go of James' hair to massage gently above the space where James' wings meet his back, slowing his movements when James freezes and then stopping altogether, heart in his throat.

James slowly relaxes and lets Steve leave his hand there.

Steve can just barely feel a scar beneath his shirt.

He bites his tongue and doesn’t ask.

After their breaths have slowed down again and their wings have stopped shaking, James squeezes his arm gently around Steve’s waist and lifts his head to look at him, something in his expression resigned.

Steve remembers what he'd been trying to say.

"I don't think I have feelings for Bucky," he says softly, ignoring the uncomfortable mess in his underwear. James blinks once, slowly. "I thought I did," Steve continues, brow furrowing a little, "But I think it was mostly...because I have them for you. It was nice with Bucky. A little weird. Different. But it wasn't..." he trails off in thought, blinking to pull himself back out of his head, focusing on James. He shrugs a wing. "I didn't feel any of what I just felt. And I think maybe what he thought _he_ felt might've...might've been from _you_." James glances down in thought, expression evening out before he looks back up at Steve.

"I need to see Agent 13," he says, decisive.

"Natasha and Clint are bringing her over," Steve replies, "I didn't get the chance to tell you," he adds, quirking his lips up.

James does it back, if a little smaller.

Steve lets his fade.

"I'm sorry," he says. James' brow furrows a little. "For kissing Bucky," he clarifies, a little quieter.

The last time he'd done something like that, Peggy had shot at him. He doesn’t think _James_ will, but Steve still...feels bad. Like he did something behind James' back. And it's worse, because it was with James' body, too, and Steve didn't tell him.

James just looks at him, almost long enough to make Steve nervous, before leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to Steve’s lips, the most gentle one so far.

"I meant what I said," James says simply, only pulling back a little to look at him, "And you belong to no one."

Steve blinks, frowns a little. He shakes his head. "Doesn't mean I get to hurt you," he says quietly, looking at him, "I'm sorry, James."

James eyes get a little shinier and he blinks once before resting his forehead down against the side of Steve’s neck. Steve listens and feels him breathe, feels the hand around his waist tighten as James almost shakes imperceptibly against him.

And Steve realizes, he's most likely shaking _not_ from Steve hurting him, but because Steve _apologized_.

He squeezes James a little closer and holds him until the tremors move past them both.

\--

They've cleaned up and changed by the time 13 arrives, and Steve manages to keep the flush off of his face when she comes in.

"Steve," she greets with a smile, heading straight for him but stopping a comfortable five feet away. He casts a quick glance to Natasha over 13's shoulder, who inclines her head just slightly, before returning his attention to 13.

"13," he returns, "Natasha told you." Her smile goes softer at the edges, and it only hurts a little.

"Not everything, but enough," 13 replies, shifting her gaze to James. "James," she greets politely. James raises his head slightly in acknowledgment, exactly like Natasha, but otherwise is still as a statue. When Steve glances down, he can see James' fists are clenched. "Are you alright?" 13 asks, picking up on the tension.

"I want to kiss you," James says stiffly, brows drawing together a little in what might be frustration, "Bucky kissed Steve." 13's eyebrows raise a little and Steve’s wings twitch, trying not to duck his head. "We are transferring," he continues, and now Steve’s brows furrow.

"Transferring," 13 says, while Clint and Natasha walk over, "Are you merging?"

James glances to Steve before looking back, shaking his head slightly. "I don't know."

"Hey, Stark!" Clint calls.

"We're ready to go!" Tony calls back, stepping into the room from the hall with Sam, who's wearing- "Just had to make some minor adjustments to our security guard," Tony says while Sam grins.

"So what's the plan?" 13 asks. Steve’s glad to know _he's_ not the only one not in the loop.

"The Robotwins are coming with me, JARVIS, and Falcon, here. It'll be easier to get where we need to if we're traveling light," Tony instructs, "The Widow and Archer will go with you and Rogers to meet Lukin. The Barneses won't be there, so Rogers, you'll have to keep him distracted with your own patriotic appeal." Steve rolls his eyes a little and Tony smirks briefly. "The guy helping said it will take roughly twelve hours to complete the process, so _we_ need to leave _now_. You guys go meet with Lukin at the designated time and we'll meet you there."

"What if you're not there on time?" 13 asks, frowning.

"Then keep Lukin distracted," Tony says seriously, eyes shifting back to Steve, "And you," he says, pointing with a finger and jerk of a wing in his direction, "No staying to fight. We still don't know what Lukin did, so if you don't see us on the horizon, you get out of there."

Steve nods. "Yes, sir," he says with a small smirk of his own.

Tony gives one right back before clapping his hands and spreading his wings a bit. "Alright!" he announces, "Let's move out."

Tony starts moving for the door with Sam after Sam gives Steve an encouraging nod and smile, and Steve nods back with a small smile of his own, but then a wing is brushing his and cool fingers are gently cupping his cheek.

"Do as he says," James says quietly. Steve smiles, softer this time, placing his hands on James' hips.

"I'll try," he replies.

James narrows his eyes.

"I _will_ ," Steve amends, leaning his head down after a moment to press their foreheads together, "I promise," he whispers.

James stares up at him for a moment before nodding and pulling back, stroking his cheek once with his thumb before pulling away to follow Tony and Sam, Steve letting his fingers trail off of his hips as he goes.

James stops next to 13 for a moment to lean in and whisper something into her ear. 13 blinks before her eyes widen and she nods, turning to watch him go. Steve walks over to her and they watch the door shut behind James.

He brushes his wing companionably against hers and she lets out a soft, shaky breath.

\--

The building they end up at is at the literal center of five streets, ensconced within an unnaturally quiet part of the border of New York's residential area.

There’s no one out, no adults talking on their way home and no children playing ball or jumping rope down any one of the streets.

It'd make the back of Sam's hair stand on end if it were long enough to.

He’s mostly just glad they made it here seemingly undetected.

"This is it?" he asks, keeping his voice hushed because raising it any louder seems like it would be...wrong. Dangerous. His wings shift a little uneasily.

"Yup," Tony says lightly, but even his voice is lowered a little.

When they're a few feet from the tall, gated entrance, the gate swivels open without a sound. Sam pauses, but Tony and James keep right on walking (though he does notice that _James_ is at _least_ keeping an eye on their surroundings).

The right door of the double doors to the place does the same thing after they get up the steps, and _that_ at least makes both Sam _and_ James pause before following Tony, who just strolls inside.

It smells old, is Sam's first thought. There’s tapestries along the walls and extravagant rugs on the floor in myriads of deep hues, what looks like a check in desk to the right next to old, dark wood stairs that lead up into shadows, the 'lobby' a little dim but goldly lit by lanterns mounted along the walls between the tapestries.

The door closes behind them and James and Sam turn a little to look while Tony comes to a stop.

" _We're here_ ," Tony calls out.

"I am aware," a voice says, and then a man dressed in red and gold and blue steps out of seemingly nowhere, making Sam jump and James' wings twitch faintly. His wings are black, light gray fading up from the ends of the most bottom row of feathers. "Mr. Stark," the man greets politely.

"Doctor Strange," Tony returns, holding a hand out. They shake, and then Doctor Strange's eyes are focusing on James.

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing down the hall with a sweep of an arm and wing.

James stares at him for a moment, but follows after Strange and Tony start walking down the hall, so Sam figures he probably should, too.

\--

"You ready for this?"

Steve looks over, lips quirking up as he shifts his wings, adjusting his uniform. "As much as I can be."

13 nods with a small smile in agreement, stepping into the room. "You haven't told him my name," she says a little playfully. Steve groans a little, playfully, too.

"I told you I wouldn't," he replies, giving her a small, exaggeratedly pleading look.

"I know, I know. I'll stop being mean," she says with a small grin, stopping next to the wall to pick up his shield and bring it over to him, "I'm just...grateful. And I know it was a weird request," she adds, frowning a little as she looks at the star on his chest.

"I understand," he says, softer, accepting his shield from her when she blinks herself out of her thoughts and offers it to him, "He should know, though."

"I'll tell him, after this," she promises, looking up at him as he hooks his shield into place between his wings on his back. He nods.

It's quiet for a minute before she says, teasing-

"So Bucky kissed you, huh."

Steve groans. Her and Bucky were practically _made_ for each other. " _Sha_ -"

\--

James glances at one of the myriad of various styled clocks on the far wall, standing in the center of the large symbol drawn on the floor. "Twelve hours," he states, looking to where Strange is adjusting something on the floor before snapping his fingers. All of the candles light up.

"Give or take an hour," Strange replies with a distracted nod, adjusting one more thing before stopping directly in front of James at the outer edge of the circled symbol, "I must create a body merged with portions from the one you are in, break apart the original into half and create the other halves to make both whole, and that will take time. I assume _you_ are to keep _this_ arm?" he asks, gesturing with a few fingers to James' left. James doesn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

Bucky hates it. It has been James' since the beginning.

Strange nods before closing his eyes and bringing his hands to his chest. James hears his breathing start to slow.

"You may be able to communicate directly with your other self when the barrier between you two is thinnest during transition," Strange warns, "Don't fight it. It will only make separating you two more difficult."

James doesn’t say anything, just watches Strange while Stark and Falcon watch him, and closes his eyes when they become too heavy to keep open.

\--

"About an hour to go," Clint reports from the kitchen around a mouthful of pizza, closing the fridge door, "We should head out soon."

"How are we going in?" 13 asks, adjusting her gun holster.

"Lukin didn't specify a location," Clint replies, finishing off his pizza in one large bite, swallowing before he continues, "So I'll scout it out first. If he's on the roof, I'll call you up. Otherwise, 13, you go through the back door. Steve and Nat? You go through the front door. We need to distract him as long as possible. Try to keep him talking, too, villains tend to be prone to that whole monologuing thing."

13 nods. " _The Incredibles_."

Steve’s brow furrows. Nat brushes his wing with her own, red stark against pitch black.

"We'll watch it when we get back," she says, lips curving up, "You'll like it."

Steve smiles back, letting himself believe it. He needs to, even though he knows something might happen to any one of them.

"We ready to go?" he asks.

They all make verbal confirmation and then start heading out.

\--

It's black at first, and it's not. He feels like he’s looking around, but at the same time, like he’s not seeing with eyes.

He's not sure how to describe it.

What was black is now swirling teal and deep purple, what look like stars sprinkled everywhere, miniscule and infinite.

 _He_ feels infinite.

There aren't any words close enough to describe it.

He wants Steve to feel this, to feel-

_Steve._

_What if he never sees Steve again? What if this doesn't work?_

_"Nice to know you do have doubts."_

His wings jolt, or at least they would if he had any-

" _ **Bucky**_ ," he thinks.

" _James_ ," Bucky replies, sounding like him and nothing like him at all, sounding like a voice and like texture all at once.

It's silent for a minute, neither sure what to say.

" _Not one for talking even in your own head, huh_ ," Bucky says.

He growls, or thinks it. He hears a quiet, echoing laugh.

" _All that back and forth, and when it comes down to it, you got nothin' you wanna say?_ "

He thinks it over.

" _ **No.**_ "

It's silent.

" _Yeah_ ," Bucky says, " _Me neither_."

It's silent again.

Then he feels a gentle pull, like being guided, and he and Bucky pass each other like ships in the night-

He blinks his eyes open, slowly, the dim light _painful_ , like his eyes are new, like-

He hears someone take a breath and looks straight ahead, sees blue-gray eyes focusing on him, widening a little where they're both laying on the old wood floor like mirror images, leaving impressions in his sensitive skin.

"Still got nothing to say," Bucky says quietly, hoarsely, lips pulling up on one side like it's taking some effort, slowly turning into a grin, like a child's.

James opens his mouth, skin stretching and new tongue shifting-

He closes it.

He knows what he wants the first thing he says to be as his own person.

He and Bucky push themselves up, James with two arms and covered in seventy years of scars, Bucky with one and covered in twenty-seven.

He sees Tony’s wide eyes darting between them both, hears Sam's shocked and wondrous, " _Well I'll be **damned**_ ," and looks up to see Strange smiling like he was successful.

"Why don’t you both try stretching your wings?" Strange offers.

Bucky shifts his white.

James shifts his dark brown.

\--

Steve and Natasha wait just below the bridged gate of the Triskelion, backs pressed to the cement in the shade, still dripping water from the swim.

"Any sign of him?" Natasha says quietly into her comm.

" _Nnnnnnnnnnnno- Yup_ ," Steve hears Clint in his, " _He's on the roof with four men. Smirking at me. Are you sure I can't just shoot him?_ "

"Not yet," Steve replies, starting to scale the wall, Natasha next to him, "We're on our way."

They climb up to the bridge so they can leap off at a run and let the air currents push them up, beating their wings and circling up over the lower half of the building to the highest, circling above it once to get a read on what they're about to land into before curving around to land roughly twenty feet away from Lukin and his men, listening to Clint land a moment later while 13 stays hidden, their backup.

Lukin watches them with a lilt to his lips the whole time.

" _I do not see my Soldier_ ," Lukin calls across the large gap of tarmac between them, wind pushing his words towards them.

"Why do you want him so bad, anyway?" Clint calls back, "Either of them, really. Have you seen what A.I.M.'s been up to? Much more advanced than a couple ninety-year olds."

" _Call me sentimental_ ," Lukin replies, eyes shifting from Steve to Clint, " _Much time was spent on our greatest achievement, it seems only fair to take the last of the set as compensation_." He looks back to Steve and Steve tries to keep his wings still, hands fisting at his sides.

"They're _not_ your property," Steve says, trying to keep up the stall. They should be here any minute.

" _We've been through this, Captain_ ," Lukin replies, " _Besides, do you not feel proprietary towards both of them? Considering how much time and how much of your life **you've** given to each of them._ "

Steve stands up straighter, fingers curling tight.

"No," he says firmly. Lukin's wings lift in a brief shrug.

" _No matter_ ," he replies, calling something quieter in Russian back to one of the men. They answer and Lukin focuses his full attention back on them. " _It looks like our time is up, gentlemen, Black Widow_."

Steve catches Natasha’s eye, shifts, gets ready to take off-

His ears pick up something as Lukin opens his mouth and he turns and tackles Natasha and Clint to the ground as an explosion goes off ten feet away, sending cement up towards Lukin and his men. He lifts his head after a moment, briefly checks over Clint and Natasha before pushing himself up when he finds them uninjured and rubbing at an ear with a finger to try and get the ringing out, eyes darting around. Something _zooms_ by and then two rockets are fired out of a window below, aiming for something- some _one_ zooming by.

" _Sorry!_ " Sam calls out, dodging the rockets and curving back around, " _Still getting the hang of the modifications!_ "

Steve smiles while Natasha goes for the agents firing below, Clint firing an arrow towards Lukin and his men, another, smaller explosion going off as they run.

"Small price to pay!" he calls back.

"Easy for you to say!" Clint yells over, firing another arrow, " _Don't make me any more deaf than I am, Wilson!_ "

Sam swoops up again and Steve checks on Clint and Lukin before scanning the sky for James or Bucky- James _and_ Bucky, if it went right. He spots Tony approaching across the water with two other figures and his heart pounds faster. They get closer and closer and Steve sees-

He runs for the edge of the building, the battle under control, and leaps off. Tony’s helmeted head turns towards Bucky and James and then he breaks off, aiming for the building while Steve tries to beat his wings faster. He can see both of their faces-

Lukin shouts something in Russian-

His body jolts and his wings freeze and his vision goes-

\--

James opens his mouth while Bucky pulls up short and pulls a gun out of the back of his pants-

" _ **STEVE!**_ "

_**BANG.** _

He sees Lukin go down on the roof but Steve is falling falling _falling_ -

He dives down sharply, pulls his wings in tight to his back to let gravity pull him _down_ and gets his arms around Steve and spreads his wings to try and slow their descent. He takes the brunt of the impact when they hit the ground-

"Steve," he says urgently, carefully shifting Steve in his arms a little and bringing his flesh fingers up to his pulse point-

He's breathing.

"Steve," he says again, moving to lay Steve on the ground so he can kneel over him, " _Steve_ ," he repeats more urgently, gently gripping the sides of his face. He leans down close, shakes Steve’s head gently.

"Steve," he says, almost a whisper, this time not expecting a reply.

\--

"Shit," Bucky curses, "My aim's off." He lands on the rooftop next to Sam, looking down at Lukin.

"Dude," Sam says, "You shot him in the _neck_."

Bucky glances at him. "Like I said. Off." Sam raises an eyebrow. "I was aiming for his head." Sam's other eyebrow rises before he turns back to Lukin, the others slowly converging as the battle dies down.

"Steve?" Natasha asks.

"James has him," Bucky replies, eyes narrowing when Lukin gives a gurgly laugh, blood flecking his lips. " _What did you do_."

" _The Tale_ -" Lukin rasps, coughing again. He grins, " _The Tale of Aurora_. It's my favorite."

Bucky frowns before turning sharply and running for the edge of the roof, stumbling a little with the new imbalance before jumping down over the edge.

"Steve!" he calls down, worry climbing up his throat when the figures come more into focus and he doesn’t get a reply, "James!"

He sees James' dark wings twitch but he doesn't move. Bucky lands and runs over, stumbling again with an annoyed grunt. "Steve!" he calls again. He skids to a stop opposite James and drops to his knees, checking Steve’s pulse and letting out a breath when he finds one. "James," he repeats, looking up.

James finally lifts his forehead from Steve’s, icy blue focusing on him for a moment before dropping back to Steve. It's quiet, flat, but he hears:

"He's not waking up."

Bucky swallows.

\--

He sighs, pushing his bangs up and letting them drop back down above his eyes, stopping at the window before moving to the door and walking in, closing it with a soft _click_ behind him and following the quiet beeps further into the room. He takes the unoccupied chair, reaching for Steve’s other hand.

"How is he?" he asks, voice hushed.

James doesn’t say anything from the far side of the bed, doesn't even look away from Steve’s face.

Bucky lets out another sigh, leaning back in the chair (technically _his_ now, three days running). He sits up at a gentle knock on the glass and turns his head to look, James still unmoving out of the corner of his eye.

He pushes himself up, gives Steve’s hand a squeeze before he rests it gently back on the bed and goes to the door.

"What is it?" he asks, shutting the door behind him, "Lukin talking?" Sharon shakes her head, eyes going from soft to steely.

"He wants to talk to James," she says. Bucky snorts a derisive laugh and her mouth pinches in a bitter, knowing smile. "I know." She turns to look back into the room for a moment, expression softening before looking back to him. She reaches up and cups his cheek gently. "We'll figure this out," she says softly. Bucky leans his head down and rests his forehead against hers, lets her wings envelop his own and draw him in closer.

"I don't know," he whispers, can’t stand to say it any louder, "Steve’s stubborn and-... _Steve_. And I've pulled him out of shit before, but...but I don’t know how to pull him out of this. I don't know how to _fix_ _this_ ," he says desperately, looking at her.

" _We_ will," she says, brushing her fingers up through his hair. He closes his eyes, nodding after a moment and standing back up straight. She looks at him with a small, soft smile, doesn't ask him if he'll be spending the night here again, just guides his head down so she can press a gentle kiss to his lips. He returns it before turning around and going back into the room.

He stops at Steve’s bedside, glancing at the snow falling outside the window, James, and then at Steve’s face, made pale as the snow outside in the winter light coming through the windows. With the small tube up his nose, all Bucky can see is that time they spent Christmas in the hospital because Steve caught pneumonia. Looks like they're doing it again. Similar song, different century.

He sits down and takes Steve's hand again, gives it a gentle squeeze.

"Merry Christmas, Stevie," he says quietly, stretching a wing over to brush it once, real light, along the edge of James'.

James' moves, just slightly, to brush his back, but otherwise he doesn’t move, just like Steve.

Bucky looks out the window, lets himself get lost in the memory of them playing in the snow as kids and wonders if it would make this whole thing better or worse if James could remember it, too.

He's not sure. Jury's still out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm _awful_.


	28. Aurora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO GOT A COMPUTER.
> 
> Also, warnings: Mentions of rape (but in relation to something else, not any of the characters in the story, and only once very briefly. Let me know if you want to know where it is so you can skip over it).

"Pull up all versions of _Sleeping Beauty_."

Five holoscreens materialize in a half circle around him and he leans in to squint at the one in the middle.

" _Sir_ ," JARVIS starts. Tony’s wings give a twitch. " _You have been over the tale's many versions approximately one-hundred and thirty-one times in the last three days_." Tony frowns heavily, scrolling through the first screen before turning to the second and crossing his arms. " _Sir, perhaps the only way to cure Steve is to_ -"

"I _know_ , JARIVS," Tony cuts him off with a sigh, standing up straight and uncrossing his arms, "I know."

JARVIS is quiet for a moment before saying, more somberly, " _There may be no other way, Sir_."

Tony sweeps through the air with an arm to dismiss the screens, frowning at a wall before slowly turning back straight ahead.

"Pull up the list."

A long holoscreen materializes in front of him.

\--

“You need to get out of this room.”

James doesn’t look over. Neither of his wings even give a twitch.

Bucky holds in a sigh.

“He wouldn’t want it,” he tries next. _That_ gets James to look at him, his eyes slanting in Bucky’s direction. “Steve wouldn’t want you sitting here like some statue when you finally got your freedom,” Bucky continues, bracing himself even as he says it.

James’ head slowly turns towards him, eyes narrowing into a glare. The only soft thing about him is how he holds Steve’s hand on the bed.

Bucky steels himself and keeps going. He’s not afraid, exactly ( _okay, maybe a little_ ), but James is... _volatile_ , especially right now.

“I know you don’t really care about anyone but him,” he starts. James doesn’t blink. “And maybe her,” Bucky thinks to add, “And maybe me, in some weird way. Probably because of Steve,” he adds in a mutter. James just keeps watching him. He’d be unnerved if he weren’t used to it. “But you’re not alone, in missing him,” he says a little awkwardly, trying to comfort James in some way ( _partially because he thinks Steve would want him to_ ), “But you’re not alone, whether you like it or not,” he says firmly, “Steve wouldn’t want you to be.”

James stares at him for another minute before his eyes slowly slip back to Steve, brows drawing together, just slightly, but that alone is practically like seeing James jump out of that damn chair.

He’s only gotten up to use the bathroom, mechanically eats what Bucky puts in front of him ( _without_ checking it, which is sign number _million_ that he’s not in his right mind), and hasn’t made a face outside of ‘blank slate’, as Bucky’s taken to thinking of it as.

He’ll take _anything_ at this point. For Steve.

“You need to leave this room, if only for a minute,” Bucky finishes, not quite at pleading, yet.

James’ eyes snap to him and then to the floor, then slowly drift back to Steve, like they always do.

Bucky sighs and turns to go, at least for a little bit, stumbling an inch when he moves too quickly. Fuckin’ _arm_ -

“How is he doing?”

Bucky pulls up short, wings jerking and head snapping to the right, fingers still on the door handle. His eyes catch on red first and then huge, hulking, _silver wings_ that shine under the florescent lights like _metal_ , like _his weapon_ -

He closes the door carefully.

“Thor, right?” he asks, not taking a step closer and staying in front of the door. Though, if he _is_ Thor, that’s useless, and not just because he’s a battle buddy of Steve’s. He’s seen some of the Avengers in action, and Thor is...out of this world ( _literally_ ).

The guy nods, turning towards him and holding out a hand.

“We have not had the pleasure of meeting,” he says, “I am Thor, Son of Odin.” Bucky takes his hand after a moment, keeping a steady eye on him.

“James Barnes,” he returns, wings jerking a little, alarmed when Thor grabs his wrist instead, but he only shakes it, and Bucky quickly gets back to it, “But you can call me Bucky.”

Thor’s lips curve up a little with a nod as they let go and he turns back towards the room’s window. Bucky takes a few steps closer to look in, too, even though he’ll see the same thing he’s seen for the last _four days now_.

He can just make out Steve through the blinds at the other end of the room.

And James, still sitting in his chair.

“How is your other self doing?” Thor asks next, jerking Bucky out of his head, “‘James’ I was told his name was?” he asks, turning his head towards Bucky.

Bucky nods, frowning a little as he looks back into the room.

“He hasn’t left the room since we got here,” he says, quieter, “And he hasn’t left Steve’s side since-...since _Lukin_ did _whatever_ he did. Put Steve into a damn _coma_ ,” he says, quietly vicious. He straightens his wings out a bit, standing up straight. “No one else has tried talking to him yet. Though I get the feeling that’ll change soon,” he finishes in a mutter, pulling his eyes away from Steve to look over at Thor.

Thor’s brows are pulled together a little, a line between them and mouth pulled down in a thoughtful frown. His huge wings shift a little, tall as Bucky, tall as _Steve_ and _then_ some, and then he says, “He blames himself.”

Bucky glances back into the room, his own mouth pulling down.

“Yeah,” he confirms, wings shifting slightly, and can’t think of anything else to say.

It _is_ James’ fault in a way, and it isn’t. Just like it’s _Bucky’s fault_ , too. If they hadn’t gotten captured by S.H.I.E.L.D., and _Hydra_ before that, none of this would be happening. Logically, he knows that line of thinking is irrational, but he’s never really been rational when Steve’s hurt, especially when it all leads back to _him_.

Bucky stands there for a moment, just staring at Steve like James has been, then forces himself to turn away and start on down the hall like he originally intended, passing Thor as he goes.

Thor makes him wary, but there’s also something about him that Bucky can’t place, something that reminds him of Steve, so he thinks...Steve will be safe with Thor around. Besides, of all the Avengers, Thor’s one of the strongest, so if anything happens, Thor’s one of the most perfect roadblocks that for whatever threat might come has to go through first.

Bucky goes to find Sharon.

(And don’t think he isn’t giving Steve hell for _that-...when_ Steve wakes up).

\--

Someone’s watching.

He doesn’t look.

He’s already caught enough of a glance in his periphery to know which one of them it is. James has heard him referred to as ‘the alien’, but Steve’s allies and most of the world call him ‘Thor’.

He’s dangerous.

James keeps aware of him while he sits, eyes locked on Steve’s face. He rubs his flesh thumb slow and gentle over Steve’s knuckles, finds himself _wishing_ -

Wishes won’t get him anywhere. Or Steve.

There’s movement in his periphery, then he hears the door softly _swish_ open.

He keeps his body loose, relaxed. Ready.

Heavy steps. They come to a stop from what he judges is approximately ten feet away.

“He sleeps?” James hears, doesn’t bother looking over, just nods the slightest amount. Maybe that much will make him _go away_.

Silence.

“You keep vigil over him like the heroes of old,” Thor says next, voice deep and soft amidst the quiet _beep_ ing of the machines keeping Steve-

“I’m not a hero,” he finds himself saying quietly, voice rougher than it’s been in a long while, “Steve is.”

Silence again.

“Would he not think you are as well?”

James finally slants his eyes in Thor’s direction, wings still.

Thor looks back, expression soft and solemn all at once, wings towering near the ceiling, shining even in the dim lighting of the room like any measure of light is drawn to them.

They’re bigger than Steve’s, even, by at least a foot.

His well known _hammer_ is hanging at his hip.

James reassesses Thor’s threat level, finds himself tensing fractionally to compensate for it.

Thor’s eyes shift to his wings briefly before moving back to James’ own eyes, expression remaining the same.

“I bear you nor Steve Rogers ill will,” Thor says softly, “He and I have fought in battle together and are on the same side. We are shield brothers,” his gaze drops to Steve. James notes that he doesn’t react to the color of Steve’s wings. Thor’s eyes shift back up to him. “I will help you keep watch. No more outside harm will come to him while I am here,” Thor vows. James’ wings give a slight twitch.

“ _You can’t promise that_ ,” he says lowly, sitting up a little more in the chair, back stiff, “You can’t promise anything.” If James has learned anything, it’s _that_ , just like _he_ couldn’t stop anything from happening to _Steve_.

Thor doesn’t move, just continues to look at him while James stares right back, and finally, with another glance at Steve, James pushes himself out of the chair.

He hates it, but Bucky was right, and Steve seems to _trust_ Thor, from what he’s heard and seen since his time in this... _Avengers Tower_ , when Stark had relayed information to them (“ _We need to catch you two up to speed_ ”)-

“ _You stay outside the room_ ,” he orders lowly, tone brooking no argument.

Thor nods once, firmly.

\--

Bucky’s steps slow when he spots Thor again ( _still?_ ) outside of Steve’s room, bright red like a beacon in the stark white hall. Bucky comes to a stop next to him and looks in through the window, wings freezing before he turns sharply to Thor.

“You got him to _leave?_ ” he asks incredulously, eyes going a little wide.

Thor looks over at him with a nod, lips curving up a little in a small, grim, understanding sort of smile.

“Where is he?” Bucky asks after he collects himself.

“ _James is currently down in the Gym on the floor below, Sir_ ,” JARVIS answers him, making Bucky’s wings jolt a bit and his eyes dart up to the ceiling. He’s not sure he’s _ever_ going to get used to that.

Bucky’s mouth flattens a little and he looks at Thor one more time with a nod before turning to walk back down the hall to the elevator, muttering, “ _Boy, you sure do know how to pick’em, Steve_.”

\--

James is _incredibly easy to find_.

As soon as the elevator doors open, Bucky hears a loud _thud_ like someone threw a cement _block_ at a reinforced wall, and sure enough, when he gets to the end of the hall and peers into the gym, James is-

James is a _whirlwind_.

The gym’s equipment is scattered, knocked over, _ripped to pieces_ , and James himself is in the air. Bucky watches him do one, tight circle around the perimeter at high speed (the kind of speed _Steve_ uses), then spins at the last second when he reaches the wall and _kicks it_.

The glass near the door _shakes_ with the force of it and Bucky’s pretty sure if the room _weren’t_ reinforced it’d be in as many pieces as the _gym_ equipment is.

James spins, kicks off the wall and shoots off again towards the other end of the room, and Bucky just barely catches a glimpse of his face before he takes off.

He steels himself and opens the door.

James doesn’t stop, just punches _that_ wall as hard as he can (with his _right_ hand) and then does another circuit of the room before kicking the opposite wall _again_.

Bucky grabs the closest thing he can find (a handlebar from one of the machines) and throws it hard up into the air. James’ wings flare out and he rears up as they push himself back, just barely avoiding getting hit, head snapping down and eyes focusing intently on Bucky, still looking scattered and wild, dangerous.

“Get down here and train with me!” Bucky calls up. James stares at him for a moment longer before folding his wings in and dropping the ten feet to the floor like he only hopped over a damn _puddle_ , standing right back up without even a wince. Bucky supposes he can do that now _too_ , but he hasn’t had much occasion to test it.

Guess now’s as good a time as any.

James continues staring at him.

“Well?” Bucky demands, shifting into a fighting stance, right arm raised, “You gonna come at me, or what?”

James shifts his own position, wings raising slightly, one slightly higher than the other in question, at least as much of one as he can manage right now. His face doesn’t change.

“I’m the only one who can currently take you,” Bucky lies. He’s off balance and they both know it, but he doesn’t want to risk anyone _else_ getting hurt. “So _come on_ ,” he goads, and then James _moves_.

Bucky barely manages to keep up for five minutes before his balance gets thrown off too much doing a kick and he lands on his back with a _grunt_. He rolls quickly and hears James’ foot _thud_ into the mat where his head just was and pushes himself up, feints throwing out a wing then _actually_ throwing it out when James moves to dodge, throwing him off a step. It’s _just_ enough-

Bucky rushes in and throws a punch-

James dodges at the last second and throws his hand out, palm first, hitting Bucky square in the chest and sending him sprawling back onto the floor, wings flapping futilely in the air.

He lands again with another _grunt_.

Bucky forces himself to sit up, breathing a little raspy from the hit, chest sore. He looks up.

James stares back, standing over him, face shadowed by his hair and skin barely covered in a light sweat. But-

His eyes are a little wide, unfocused, and his wings twitch just slightly. It’s not enough. James needs more time to _get it out_ -

“Mind if I cut in?”

They both slowly turn their heads, only risking taking their eyes off of one another when they do it at the same time, wary like two predators staring one another down.

Natasha lets the door slide closed behind her, red almost as stark as Thor’s cape had been in the hall, wings steady and eyes calm.

Bucky opens his mouth to ask if she’s sure, then closes it again, forcing himself up nice and slow with his eyes back on James.

James’ eyes are locked on her, widened fractionally like he’s realized something.

Bucky pauses as he passes her. She glances at him for a moment, then redirects her gaze back to James, and Bucky continues on out the door, only bringing a hand up to rub at his sternum once it’s closed and taking in a ragged breath.

Shit, he hits _hard._

\--

Clint whistles as he makes his way down the hall, keeps himself relaxed as he gets closer then stops at the door.

“How’s he doing?” he asks, tone light but wings completely still.

“ _Waiting for a visitor_ ,” JARVIS replies, sounding like if he had lips they’d be curled in displeasure.

Clint can’t blame him ( _it?_ ), his own skin’s practically crawling just thinking about going _in_.

But he steels himself, pushes aside thoughts of blue light, gold and green and black, and steps in when the door slides open.

“So,” Clint starts, listening to the door quietly slide shut and lock four times behind him, “What do you want?”

Lukin looks up from the bed.

“You already know,” he manages, voice scratchy and rough, wincing slightly at the strain it puts on the stitches in the side of his neck.

“Yeah,” Clint replies, crossing his arms, “To talk to your ‘weapon’. Well, too bad, he’s not coming. Save us all the misery of sounding like a broken record and pick something _else_.”

Lukin’s lips twitch up while his eyes narrow slightly.

“I want to see how perfect you’ve made it,” Lukin continues after a moment.

Clint keeps his wings still, fingers curling a little where Lukin can’t see.

“Now that it’s without that troublesome Sergeant,” Lukin carries on, lips curling up further while he looks up at the ceiling, eyes lowering back to Clint after a moment, “He was quite an obstacle, even without all of his memories. It took-” his expression strains as he shifts slightly, only tilting about an inch to his right before stopping and his expression eases again as he continues, “Quite a bit of work in the beginning, I hear. I was fortunate enough to not have personally had to deal with starting from scratch. It kept remembering things the longer it was out of the ice.”

Clint’s wings shift slightly and Lukin smiles.

Clint’s lips flatten.

“Go ahead,” Lukin goads, “Ask.”

“What do you want,” Clint demands instead, and Lukin lets out a small sigh like he’s _disappointed_ , but he smiles again.

“Worried about your Captain?” he asks. Clint holds himself still and Lukin closes his eyes.

They’ve tried the triggers Nat knows, and even the ones Clint and James do, but none of them had worked, hadn’t even made Steve _twitch_. He’s still laying in one of the med lab’s beds in a private room, hooked up to machines to keep him somewhere near healthy while he can’t do it on his own, with two sentinels watching over him, one that never leaves the room.

“Did you know that your version of _The Tale of Aurora_ is different from the original?” Lukin asks. Clint refocuses in time to see Lukin open his eyes and look at him. “Your _Sleeping Beauty_ , with it’s happy ending, made for children.” Clint raises an eyebrow like he’s bored. Lukin looks up at the ceiling. “ _La Belle au bois dormant_ ,” Lukin says in perfect French, “‘ _The Beauty Sleeping in the Wood_ ’. In that version, Sleeping Beauty, Talia, is raped by a king when she is asleep, and gives birth to two children. When she wakes, she and the king bond, and they remain together after overthrowing the queen.” Clint slowly raises his other eyebrow, looking at Lukin flatly and Lukin looks back at him, waving one of his hands as much as he can where they’re securely cuffed to the bed. “You do not understand.”

“You want to make Steve your bitch,” Clint says flatly. Lukin lets out a laugh, wincing as he tries to calm it back down.

“ _Crude_ ,” Lukin says, “But perhaps you do understand.”

Clint stares at him for a minute before something slowly dawns on him.

He uncrosses his arms.

“What’s happening to Steve while he’s asleep?” Clint asks, wings shifting up slightly.

Lukin smiles again and closes his eyes.

“I always thought it was clever, in a way,” he says after a moment, instead of answering, “The king commits two atrocities, and yet he still gets everything he desires in the end. Though, I am kinder than the king.” Clint frowns. Lukin opens his eyes again to look at him. “Your Captain will not have to live through such misery.”

Clint stares at him for a moment before turning to go, only running down the hall when the door slides shut all the way and Lukin can’t see him.

\--

James stares at her and she stares back, and after she’s gotten into position, she launches herself at him a few moments later. He’s not in a fighting stance, but his block is automatic, eyes still a little wide and fixed on her face.

It unsettles her, because-

He finally refocuses and kicks out, and she shoves herself back with a beat of her wings, sending his hair flying back off of his face. She runs again and aims her own kick, spinning when he dodges and aiming another. He grabs it and she twists, throws her other leg up and uses the momentum to swing around and twist the leg he’s got a hold of out of his grip, aiming a wing at him that he blocks with his own. She looks at his face and his eyes are-

He gets a hold of her ( _stupid_ ) and slams her _down_ , forcing her breath out before he pushes himself back with his own wings, black in the corner of her eyes. She pushes herself back up and lunges with a fist that he catches, but he doesn’t do anything more and says-

“ _Natalia_ ,” low and steady, expression blank but eyes-

They both freeze.

She twists her hand out of his grip a second later and pushes herself back with her wings, eyes still a little wide.

He doesn’t move.

They stare at each other for a minute and then he says, “You…” he brings a hand up to grip the side of his head, eyes closing as he shakes it a little, wings tensing, “You tried to…”

He looks up and she wishes he hadn’t.

_She runs along the wall, barefoot, steps light and steady and wings pulled in tight to her back, making whatever silhouette she casts down the halls that branch off the one she’s on shorter, white medical slip down to her knees barely restricting her movements. His room should be-_

_She hears a **snarl** and stops at the corner, crouches low and presses her back to the wall, ignoring the cold, and inches until she can peek around it-_

_**There.** _

_A baton end crackles and sparks and **he** growls, black wings flared up high and taking up nearly the whole width of the corridor, fists raised and eyes **angry** -_

_He snarls again and she slips around the corner, jumps up and gets her legs around one of the guard’s necks, twisting down and around and using her wings to add to the momentum, taking him with her. His lands with a **crack** , head against cement, and she looks up at the sound of a forced out breath to see the other guard drop, baton left to lay sparking futilely on the dark, smooth cement._

_She slowly rises up and his eyes snap to her, wings lowering a little and expression easing to something more determined._

_“We need to go,” she says what they’re both thinking, and he nods, turning, and then they’re both running light and quick down the hall-_

_Three more guards catch them two minutes later, and more backup arrives before they can get free of them._

_Winter Soldier is dragged away, eyes half open and dazed from the combined force of the shocks and drugs they used on him, but locked on her until they round the end corner._

_She stares after him even when he’s gone, feels the need to escape lessen long enough until there’s a man at her front right in a black uniform._

_Until there’s a gurney at her side and she’s forced onto it-_

She stares at James, takes in his soft, sad eyes, the ice and steel still behind them just like back then. Her fingers give a slight twitch, remembers the warmth of his, always so much warmer than the moniker they gave him, and curls them into a fist.

“How much do you remember?” she asks, just like she did in a cell weeks ago.

He raises his head slightly, composing himself.

“Enough,” he replies, with his eyes on her, just like he had in that same cell, “Наталия.”

Her wings give a small twitch and she sees him sway slightly towards her before catching himself, sees his own fingers curl into fists as he looks at her, looks at her like he really _knows_ her for the first time in years, as much as someone _can_ look at her that way.

She stays still for another minute, just watching him watch her watch _him_ , and then turns, heading for the door.

“Natalia,” he calls out, voice still quiet, softer. She pauses and turns around, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s Natasha now. I told you,” she says. He looks at her a moment before his wings relax slightly and he nods once, fingers still curled into fists at his sides. Her lips quirk and his own twitch up slightly back.

It’s not perfect, it never will be. She’d learned there was no such thing a long, long time ago, no matter how the Red Room threw the word in _both_ their faces and drove it into them throughout their training, something to strive for, strive for or die.

But it’s a start.

She’s just turned around again when JARVIS says from the ceiling:

“ _Agent Romanoff, James, you are needed in Steve’s medical room_.”

She takes off at a run, and he’s quick to reach her side, both of them running down the hall with destruction left behind them, just like always.

He could pass her if he wanted, and she knows he wants to, but he runs _with_ her, wings brushing just the lightest amount as they dart down the hall.

\--

Bucky gets there just as James and Natasha reach the door, Sharon and Sam, who they ran into on the way, right behind him. He hurries in after them to find almost _everyone_ in the room: him, Sharon, Sam, James, Natasha, with Thor, Bruce, and Tony already there.

“What is it?” he asks urgently, coming to a stop at his chair.

“JARVIS and I have been brainstorming,” Tony says, staring down at Steve with his arms crossed, eyebrows pulled together and more serious than Bucky’s seen in him a while, “And we think we may have found a way to wake Steve up.”

“But?” Sharon asks when he doesn’t continue. Tony looks up.

“But it might do more damage instead,” he answers. James’ and Bucky’s wings give a synced twitch.

“What is it?” Bucky finally asks. Tony opens his mouth to reply but then Clint’s dashing into the room, skidding to a stop when he sees everyone else turn towards him. He only stares at them for a second.

“I spoke with Lukin,” he says.

“We saw,” Bruce replies, brown wings shifting, the gray peppered in reflecting the light coming through the windows.

“Did you hear what he said?” Clint asks, wings tensing. Bucky’s eyes dart between them. Bruce’s eyes shift to Bucky and then James and then _Tony_ , who looks at Bruce and nods once before looking at Clint.

“We know, but there’s not many other options,” Bruce replies, wings shifting again, “We’ve tried all the possible triggers we know and nothing’s worked. At this rate, he’s going to be stuck like this forever.”

Bucky swallows, eyes shifting to Steve.

“What is it you’re talking about doing?” Sam’s the one to ask. Bucky’s eyes lift back up to Tony and Bruce’s. Tony looks from Sam to him, shifting his weight to his other foot.

“Having JARVIS list all of the other fairytales in every possible language and see if _one_ of them is the key to waking Rogers up,” he replies.

“What if one of them is a kill word?” Natasha asks. Tony sighs.

“Like Bruce said, no real other options,” he says, uncrossing his arms, “We can’t find any solution in the biology, and the keywords Lukin even _used_ aren’t typical triggers we can just suss out with a telepath because Steve most likely doesn’t _know_ it. That, and _RoboBarnes_ doesn’t want us digging through his head,” he adds, glancing in James’ direction who’s still staring at Steve, wings giving a slight twitch. “So, it’s this,” Tony says after a moment, expression serious, “Or nothing. Because it’s been _four days_ and I _haven’t_ been able to come up with an alternative that seems likely enough to work to even bother _mentioning_.”

“So it is risk his life or let him sleep eternally,” Thor spells out. Bucky catches Clint’s wings shifting a little in his periphery and looks over, frowning at the tense look on his face.

“Actually,” Clint says, eyes darting to somewhere past him ( _James, most likely_ ) and then to Steve, shifting to move back to him, “Something may be happening while Steve’s sleeping, it’s just not reaching a physical reaction. He could be going through hell these past four days without us even knowing.”

Bucky’s wings tense and he looks back to Steve, eyes shifting to James when James looks over at him.

“My theories are on _Beast_ causing something violent,” Bruce says thoughtfully, wings tensing and crossing his own arms as he thinks, “We should restrain him to be safe, and in case he tries to escape before we can finish.”

“...Ixnay on the Beastay,” Tony says after shifting uncomfortably with his eyes on Steve, looking over at Natasha, “You speak Latin. Is that how you say that?”

Natasha stares flatly back.

“Ixnay on the Pig Latinay,” Clint says after a moment, _yelp_ ing when he gets a face full of Natasha’s feathers.

“So,” Tony says after a moment, drawing all of their attentions back to him, “What do you two want to do?”

Bucky looks to James again who drags his eyes from Steve after a moment to look back, mouth pinching slightly at the corners. Bucky nods a little and James holds his stare for a moment before shifting his focus back to Steve. Bucky shifts his own back to Tony.

“Right then,” Tony says, clapping his hands together once, “Get the restraints on.”

Bucky makes to move forward with Sam and Bruce but stops himself, jaw clenching as he curls his fingers into a fist.

It should be him. He hates having to, but it should be _him_ doing it-

A gentle touch on his shoulder makes him look over and Sharon smiles a little at him, reassuring. Bucky manages a tiny one back before dragging his eyes over to James.

James’ wings are tensed and Natasha’s got two fingers lightly on his forearm, wings barely touching.

Huh. She must’ve finally talked to him.

“JARVIS,” Tony orders, after Bruce and Sam have double checked the restraints, drawing Bucky’s attention back, “Run it.”

A hologram appears at the end of the bed with a long list, and JARVIS starts.

\--

Bucky loses track of time.

Everyone’s migrated to a more comfortable position by at _least_ the second hour mark.

Clint, Sam, Tony, and Bruce have migrated to the floor. Tony and Bruce are playing a game of hologram chess while Sam’s got his phone out, and Clint’s got his arms crossed and his eyes closed with his back leaned against the wall, legs out and crossed at the ankle.

Bucky’s pretty sure he’s not actually sleeping.

Natasha’s leaning against the wall opposite Steve’s bed a few feet away from Thor, who’s doing the same, Natasha watching Steve and Thor looking out the window.

James has taken up his chair, Bucky has too, and Sharon’s a comfort, sitting on the floor next to him with a hand gently gripping his ankle, keeping him grounded. He’d offered her the chair, but she’d gently shook her head and said, " _No_."

Bucky thinks he might love her for it.

JARVIS has long since passed English and French, and Bucky’s noticed that James’ wings are getting more and more tense the closer they seem to move down the language alphabet and approach Russian.

Bucky’s wings are tense too.

Everyone else subtly shifts their attention.

Natasha leans up off the wall, Clint’s eyes open, Sam puts his phone away, Thor’s eyes shift back to Steve, Tony and Bruce both pause their game of chess and stand up. Sharon grips his ankle a little tighter before standing up as well and James is clenching his right fist so hard his knuckles are white. When Bucky thinks to look down, his are too.

When JARVIS reaches what a niggling in Bucky’s head says is ‘ _Beauty and the Beast_ ’ in Russian, nothing happens.

Then Steve’s fingers twitch.

Bucky holds his breath, and then Steve’s wings _jerk_ sharply and _snap_ out, feathers fanning. Bucky jolts out of his chair and has to jerk one of his own wings forward to stop one of Steve's from hitting him and Sharon. When he shifts it enough to see, Steve’s back is arching off the bed and he’s thrashing, body tense and eyes squeezed shut as his mouth works and he chokes.

“ _What’s happening?!_ ” Bucky half yells, rushing forward to try and get a hold of Steve’s wing where it’s knocking over the monitors that aren’t holograms and flapping jerkily and uselessly, sees Tony and Bruce try to wrangle his other one while James tries to push Steve back down to the bed with his left hand, Thor trying to hold down Steve’s legs.

“ _I can’t-!_ ” Tony yells frustratedly over the sounds of the thrashing and choking, and Natasha and Sam dart around the bed and Thor to take over for him, freeing up Tony and Bruce to check while Clint stands guard at the door as a precaution.

Tony and Bruce lean down over Steve around James, quickly checking his eyes and looking over the hologram monitors.

“ _He’s seizing_ ,” Bruce says urgently. Tony yells to the ceiling.

“ _JARVIS! AS FAST AS THE HUMAN BRAIN CAN HANDLE!_ ”

JARVIS’ voice speeds up almost to the point where Bucky can’t understand a single word of it, all of them _blurring together_ into a _rush until_ -

Steve’s body goes still on the bed and his wings drop like heavy weights, and the room goes silent save for the sound of one of the holograms flatlining.


	29. I know I'm a wolf, and I've been known to bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for death and sex.

They all hold their breath.

“Steve…?” he hears Bucky say, coming out soft like Bucky can’t manage anything else.

No one moves.

Steve’s body jolts suddenly, eyes snapping open as he gasps in a breath, gagging a little, his hands flying up to the tube up his nose and his wings jerking while he tries to pull it out. Natasha and Sam let go of his wings, appendages flapping and shifting jerkily. Steve gasps again when he gets the tube pulled all the way out and then his hands grip James’ wrist where his hand is still pressing down on Steve’s sternum, wild blue eyes finding his.

“ _James…?_ ” Steve says on a breath, staring up at him with wide eyes.

James nods, slowly easing up the pressure on Steve’s chest and letting out a quiet breath.

“Where…?” Steve asks, eyes darting around. James can tell when they land on Bucky.

Steve freezes, eyes darting back to James then to Bucky again, back and forth once more. “Buck…?” Steve asks, forcing himself to sit up after Thor’s let go of his legs and James his chest, “It- You-”

“I know,” Bucky says, pulling up a smirk, “I look great.”

Steve just stares at him, eyes going a little distant, and Bucky’s smirk starts to fall as he takes a step forward. “Steve-”

Steve blinks and shakes his head, bringing a hand up to press a palm to his forehead. “I’m...I’m okay,” he says, lowering his hand and looking around at everyone, “I’m...I’m _okay_ ,” he repeats, like he can’t believe he is.

Something in James’ chest tightens.

It feels like worry.

\--

Bucky takes a steadying breath and nods. The door slides open and he steps inside, casual as can be. Lukin’s eyes open and find him, and Bucky feels a sick sense of disappointment when his expression eases off from the beginnings of thrilled to disinterest.

It’s fucked up, that Bucky feels _disappointed_ that Lukin isn’t excited to see _him_.

_“ **Designation**.”_

_Language: Russian._

_“ **Winter Soldier** ,” It replies in the same._

_This master nods, pleased, and turns with his hands behind his back._

_“ **Choose** ,” he orders._

_Winter Soldier turns to look._

_It walks over, ignores the pull towards the first rifle and chooses the second. It’s more efficient than the first, newer. He turns back around, holding it._

_His master looks pleased and he holds himself still for the hand that cups its cheek, runs through its hair once like petting a dog._

_It supposes he is like one._

_**It** -_

_**He** -_

_“ **Good** ,” Master says before turning and walking towards the door, “ **Come**.”_

_He feels like he just passed a test._

_But he remembers-_

_The array of weapons is still on display._

_It doesn’t look._

_**Everything** is a test._

He blinks once and the memory fades just as the door finishes locking. Lukin’s watching him closely.

“Your plan failed,” Bucky says calmly, walking further into the room. Lukin’s expression doesn’t change. “Steve’s awake.”

Lukin’s lips curl up, eyes slipping closed again. “Is that so,” he says lightly, like he doesn’t _care_.

Bucky keeps his wings from tensing, moves closer around the end of the bed.

“You’ve come to kill me then,” Lukin says calmly. His eyes open after a moment of silence and Lukin studies him, eyes sharp.

“James wants nothing to do with you,” Bucky says, stopping a foot away. Lukin’s wings give a small twitch but his lips curl up again.

“No, I imagine _it_ doesn’t,” he replies, “For the most part. If you have some of its memories, I’m sure you understand.”

Bucky’s fingers start to curl and Lukin’s eyes glance down, catch it. His lips pull up further and Bucky takes in a slow breath, letting them uncurl on the silent exhale.

“Ah,” Lukin says, soft and a little like wonder, eyes on his, “ _ **There** it is_.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, waits, like he was trained, like James was trained.

Waits.

“ _Everyone was always so afraid_ ,” Lukin says, like they’re talking about the weather, “ _It would slice their throats, gut them like pigs and slice them apart like looking for food, tear them limb from limb at command like a wild animal. But you_ ,” he pauses, smiling up at him, “ _It was smart, make no mistake, but you, you were **clever.** I asked my own master once, why we would not just continue to use you instead as you were, and he said ‘ **He is steel we cannot temper. We need a Winter of our own** ’. I did not understand, until we told you about your Captain and you escaped. Do you remember?_” Bucky doesn’t say anything and Lukin continues. “ _Zola had told you, I’m sure, but you had been wiped many times by the time my master got you. He wanted to re-break that healed fracture, what terms you’d come to with it deep inside, make things easier for him to create what he wanted.”_

Bucky almost stops breathing, but he manages to keep it going and his fists from tightening, wings still.

 _“The trail you left was messy.”_ Lukin continues, _“Ran straight for the nearest cliff edge and jumped without using your wings.”_ Lukin shrugs like it’s a trivial thing. _“We followed you all the way there by the blood trail you left in the snow. When we found you at the bottom, we kept you in the isolation ward until you were healed enough to begin the process. Then. Then I knew._ ”

Bucky keeps quiet. He can’t remember that, but he doesn’t doubt it.

Now is not the time for lies.

“ _Still_ ,” Lukin goes on, looking to the ceiling for a moment before looking back to him, “ _It was for the best. The Winter Soldier had minor hiccups in the beginning, some throughout history, but none that weren’t corrected. It was a near perfect weapon. Until **you** made it better_.” Lukin smiles again, pleased and proud, and Bucky finally talks.

“ _JARVIS_ ,” he says softly to the room, “ _Can you mute the sound?_ ”

“ _Bucky, I am not permitted_ -”

“ _Just my voice then_ ,” he cuts in, “ _I don’t want what I’m about to say to leave this room. Not even Stark has a right to it._ ”

“... _Very well_ ,” JARVIS says after a moment, “ _Your audio has been muted_.” Bucky glances around and up, finds the cameras and changes the angle he’s standing at, tilting his head down a little more so whoever watches the video later won’t be able to read his lips. JARVIS says, after a moment, “ _But, Bucky, you are_ -”

“ _It’s fine_ ,” Bucky cuts him off.

“ _But, Bucky_ -”

“ _ **It’s fine**_ ,” Bucky repeats firmly, and JARVIS goes silent. Bucky steps closer to the bed, still watching Lukin.

“ _I’m sure you thought of it at some point_ ,” Bucky starts, and Lukin raises an eyebrow slightly in question, “ _That James and I had started splitting, back then. That the ‘hiccups’ in your missions were me trying to push my way through_.” Lukin’s eyebrow lowers again. “ _You were right,”_ Bucky says after a moment, and Lukin smiles, _“But you were wrong, too_.” Lukin’s smile slowly fades, Bucky standing at the edge of his bed now. “ _I didn’t remember this, that it happened at all, until James and I physically split. Some of our memories bled over, or his did for me, but I got some of my own back, too_.” Lukin frowns a little, not understanding yet.

Bucky stares down at him.

“ _There was a mission_ ,” he says softly, “ _That one of our masters sent us on. Burn up an orphanage_.” Lukin’s eyes clear. “ _‘Mission Directive: Eliminate all occupants. Make it look like an accident. Return to base’_ ,” Bucky recites, voice flat. Lukin’s eyes slowly widen a little. “ _At that point, whatever was left of me as **me** didn’t care anymore, was done, for the most part gone. So I set the fire_.” Lukin’s eyes widen further and Bucky leans down a little. “ _Do you understand_ ,” he says more than asks, because he can see it there, in Lukin’s eyes.

Lukin opens his mouth and Bucky’s hand snaps out, clamps around his throat, and all that comes out is a strangled breath and a pained _grunt_ , cuffs jangling against the sides of the bed as he struggles, wings straining against their own restraints.

“ _There was a little girl, standing barefoot in the snow_ ,” Bucky continues, voice still soft, _flat_ , “ _Her hair was like the fire behind her. I was going to shoot her_.” He tightens his grip a little on Lukin’s neck and he struggles harder, and now Bucky remembers how much air to cut off to keep Lukin alive, and how hard to squeeze to _just_ cut it off completely. “ _I didn’t know it at the time_ ,” he continues, “ _That I was splitting at the seams, mentally. Thought that nagging thought, that pull at the back of my head was just a malfunction, a memory. But it was James. He made me put our gun down. He kept me from shooting her._ ” Bucky shifts a wing.“ _He didn’t understand children, wasn’t entirely sure what they were. We weren’t really even aware of age at that point, neither of us, anymore. But he knew she shouldn’t die. Would’ve stopped sooner if he got a clearer look at who I was shooting_.”

Lukin stares up at him, eyes wide on his face and hands curled into tight fists. He looks angry, even when he’s shocked.

“ _I had JARVIS mute the sound because I don’t ever want Steve to know that, how broken I am. How far gone_ ,” he says, softer, “ _I don’t want Sharon to know, either. I’d seen a lot, done a lot, had a lot done to me to fuck me up even worse than I was, thanks to you and Zola._ ” He can’t help a small shudder at the name. “ _And I know that’s no excuse, but it’s my truth. I wasn’t really me anymore, at that point. I think whatever was good in me that was left at that time birthed James. Gave him the spark in my head_.” He leans down a little closer. “ _And I don’t want Natasha to know it’s James’ fault for making her live through hell because he let her live, because he was kind. Steve already knows that James is. It’s alright if he doesn’t know that James is **kinder.**_ ” He squeezes his hand tighter, cuts off Lukin’s air, and Lukin thrashes as much as he can against the bed, but Bucky doesn’t let go, even when blood soaks through the bandage around Lukin’s neck and stains his fingers. It’s familiar.

“ _So, you see now. Maybe James is the ‘perfect’ one, but he’s not a weapon_ ,” Bucky says, “ _Not all the way. You had what you wanted to start with, a monster in **me** the whole time, you just fractured it to the breaking point and managed to mostly tame a part_.” He squeezes tighter, lets the anger pulse briefly. “ _And you forgot about me,_ ” he continues, anger seeping into his tone, hurt, because he’s _fucked **up**_ \- “ _People usually did. Still do. Except Steve, which is ironic, because it’s him that people overlook me for. And you obviously didn’t do your homework, because that’s how Steve and I **won** most of the time, Steve as the distraction, me as the hidden **threat**. You figure with all those Hydra guys we killed, you all would’ve picked up on that by then_. _That instead of worrying so much about ‘Captain America’, you should’ve worried more about ‘Bucky Barnes’_.”

Lukin starts choking, eyes slowly straining up.

“ _So you get your wish,_ ” Bucky whispers, “ _Your perfect weapon kills you. And I get to do it because you hurt **Steve** , and you hurt **Natasha** , and you hurt **James**_ , _and you hurt **me**_ ,” he finishes viciously, and then Lukin’s eyes go sightless and the light fades out, and Bucky slowly unclenches his fingers, letting Lukin's body completely slump back to the bed. “ _And none of them will ever know this side of me_ ,” he whispers, more to himself than to anyone else, “ _Because I’m going to bury it deep. I don’t ever want to see this side of me **again**_.”

Bucky turns to go, waits for the door to unlock and walks out and down the hall, turns the corner and gets into the elevator.

His breathing’s steady while he stares at the floor, forces his eyes up to watch the lit numbers to the side of the doors steadily go down to distract himself.

“ _Bucky_ ,” JARVIS says.

Bucky lets out a breath.

“ _It won’t happen again_ ,” he says.

“ _Bucky_ ,” JARVIS repeats, sounding grave, “ _As I was trying to tell you earlier, you are speaking Russian_.”

Bucky’s wings tense and still and he swallows.

“It won’t happen again,” he repeats more firmly in English.

“ _Of course, Bucky_ ,” JARVIS says softly, and then it’s silent the rest of the way to the med floor.

\--

“James,” Steve says softly, who shifts a little closer with a barely-there sound, arms wrapped comfortably around Steve’s waist and head and chest in Steve’s lap, bent forward across Steve where he’s sitting in a chair pressed close to the side of the bed, knees snug against it. Steve draws his fingers through James’ hair, pushes his bangs back with a hand and runs his thumb softly under one of his eyes, over the dark circle there.

“When’s the last time you slept?” he asks.

James’ eyes crack open briefly before they close again and he lifts a wing slightly in a shrug, letting it drop back with the other like dead weights anchored to the floor, feathers in disarray. He’s molting again, too early. Steve’s not sure if he can apply that to essentially _new_ feathers, but it’s probably from...stress.

“Before you fell,” James answers, and it’s so quiet Steve almost misses it, would have if his hearing wasn’t heightened.

His chest squeezes tight while his stomach does an uncomfortable flip because he-

He didn’t sleep for a while after Bucky fell, either.

Steve brushes his fingers back through James’ hair and James melts a little more. Steve curves his wings around them both and it’s only another couple of minutes before he feels James’ breathing go slow and steady on top of his thighs, head listing slightly to the side as he falls asleep.

\--

Bucky pauses outside the viewing window, just watching them for a minute before he quietly opens the door, closes it slow and walks over, sitting in the other chair after Steve turns his head to look at him while his fingers move gently through James’ hair.

“How’re you doing?” Bucky asks quietly, keeping his voice down to almost a whisper. Steve tilts his head and raises his left wing a little. James doesn’t stir. Bucky’s surprised James doesn’t register him as a threat.

“Tired, if you can believe it,” Steve replies just as quiet, lips quirking up a little on one side. Bucky quirks his own, shaking his head as he leans back against the chair.

“Yeah, actually,” he says, eyes drifting towards James, “Is it weird?” Steve looks at him for a moment, brows drawing together before he looks down, fingers not pausing once. He looks back up.

“Kind of,” Steve replies thoughtfully, eyes drifting back down to James, “Kinda like seein’ both sides of a mirror in one place. It’s a little much, but I’ll get used to it.” Bucky looks at James for a long moment before looking at Steve. Steve’s eyes are focused on him, a little down and to the left. He shifts his eyes back to Bucky’s, brows drawn together.

“It’s fine,” Bucky says when Steve opens his mouth, more apologies probably ready to fire away on his tongue. He raises what he can of what’s left of his left arm a little, four inches below his shoulder, looking down at it. “Feels better like this,” he says quietly, lowering it and looking at Steve, and then James, nodding his chin towards him, “That was never mine. The arm.” And it might not make sense to Steve, but when Steve looks down at it, Bucky thinks it might, by the look in his eyes when he looks back at Bucky. “Stark says he wants to build me one,” he says after a minute. Steve snorts quietly, lips quirking up just a little.

“You let him do that, he’ll probably put all sorts of junk in it,” he teases. Bucky’s lips tug up a little, eyebrows raising.

“Might like it,” he replies.

They sit quietly for a minute, letting each other adjust, and then Bucky says-

“Lukin’s dead,” keeping himself relaxed, the shadows out of his eyes, as much as he can. Steve’s fingers pause for a second before he continues stroking, eyes drawing back up to him.

“Did you…?” he asks, studying him for a moment when Bucky doesn’t say anything. Bucky just looks back. “You should get some rest, too,” Steve finally says after a minute of just James breathing quietly in the silence. Bucky raises an eyebrow and Steve shrugs a wing a little again. “You don’t look as tired as he does,” Steve says after a moment, glancing down towards James briefly before looking back up, “But you still look tired, Buck.” After a few moments, Bucky blows out a quiet breath.

“You’re right,” he concedes.

“Usually am,” Steve replies cockily.

“Are not,” Bucky retorts, pushing himself back up out of the chair, “I’ll be with Sharon _Carter_ if you need me,” he adds, giving Steve a _look_. Steve’s eyes widen and he ducks his head, looking back up at Bucky through his lashes a little sheepishly.

“She asked me not to-” he starts, but Bucky waves a hand and a wing gently.

“I know, I know,” he replies, “She told me.” Steve’s lips pull up a little and Bucky rolls his eyes, because here it comes.

“I’m glad you two seem alright together,” Steve says, softer. Bucky raises a brow and shoves at Steve’s wing gently with his own. Steve grins.

“More than alright,” Bucky says with a smirk, “You remember the sounds those dames used to make when I brought them home-”

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve cuts him off, scandalized, snapping his mouth shut and darting his eyes down when James shifts slightly, breath hitching briefly before he lets it out slow and it goes back to being steady. This time Steve sends Bucky a _look_ and Bucky grins back, turning for the door.

“Oh,” he stays, stopping with his hand on the handle and half turning back, “And Steve?” Steve raises a wing slightly in question, eyes on him. “I’m glad for you, too,” he says, softer, and he sees Steve’s ears go a little red but Steve smiles, nodding once.

Bucky nods back before opening the door and slipping out, closing it securely behind him.

He forces his wings to remain still as he walks down the hall, then when he takes the elevator up to the floor Stark gave him and Sharon, finds her sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of what smells like coffee and reading something on a tablet. Her wings tense when he gets about ten feet away, and he says, “Just me.” They relax again and she sets her tablet and mug down, turning on the stool towards him. “Lukin’s dead,” he relays to her, “I went to talk to Steve.”

She looks at him for what feels like an eternity in a minute before asking, “What do you need?”

He wants to sink to his knees, but it feels too much like the shit in his head from James, so instead he bends down and presses his face into the side of her neck, sliding his wings under hers when they overlap his and wrapping his arms around her waist, feels hers wrap around the back of his shoulders.

He doesn’t cry, and he doesn’t scream, and he’s not _sad_ , exactly, but whatever he feels seems like more than that, deeper, and he just holds onto her and tries not to get sucked down into it.

It takes monumental effort, and the position they’re in isn’t comfortable, but she doesn’t complain while he clings to her like a lifeline and struggles to finish piecing himself back together and retract his sharp teeth, put his claws away, the winter in _him_ hidden away under her gold and sunlight.

He lifts her up from the stool after a moment and she wraps her legs easy and familiar around his waist, lets him carry her to the couch and lay her down before laying between her legs when she spreads them and resting the side of his face on her stomach, t-shirt soft under his cheek.

He wraps his arms around her and lets out a breath at the feel of her fingers carding through his hair, the ones in his feathers, and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to make himself a _person_ again.

\--

“JARVIS.”

“ _Sir?_ ”

Tony hits ‘replay’ and crosses his arms, watching the footage again. He closes out the window when it’s finished and spins on his stool once before pushing it across the lab and picking up a wrench.

“Watch that one, too,” he orders.

“ _Yes, Sir_ ,” JARVIS replies.

Tony bends down to adjust a part on his latest project. “Think he’ll be a problem?”

There’s a soft sigh.

“I think he has an understandable amount of turmoil and anger he needs to work through,” Bruce replies, stopping and taking a seat on the stool to Tony’s right. Tony slants a wry smirk in his direction. Bruce just looks back.

“I get that,” Tony replies, sitting up and looking around for another tool, reaching for it and bending back down, “I _really_ get that. It’s where that anger ends up coming out that I’m more concerned about. Will it blow up?” he sees a wing shift in the corner of his eye, “Or will it strangle someone in their sleep?” The wing is still.

“I think adequate defensive measures are in place,” he hears Bruce say with what sounds like a smile, standing up in the corner of his eye. Tony looks over.

“What? Carter?” he asks, sitting up and wings twitching. Bruce just raises an eyebrow in his direction. Tony leans back a little, thinking of earlier, of her hand gripped around Barnes’ ankle in the footage of Steve waking up. “I guess,” he settles on, looking back at Bruce with idly jittering wings, “Sure that’s enough?”

Bruce just gives him a sardonic sort of smile. “I think you and I both know the touch of a loved one has more weight to it than it would seem.”

Tony’s wings still and he forces himself to roll his eyes. “Right.”

He goes back to working while Bruce leaves the room.

“JARVIS,” he says when Bruce’s steps have faded, “Playlist Five.”

AC/DC starts playing.

\--

Steve stays where he is, keeps his fingers stroking gently through James’ hair while he loses track of time. At some point he drifts off-

\--

Steve wakes with a gasp, wings jerking and hands clenching, panting. Something moves in his periphery and his eyes dart to it, skipping down to-

“ _Shit_ ,” he curses quietly, quickly releasing James’ hair, “ _I’m sorry_.” James just looks at him while he sits up and shrugs a wing slightly, which just makes Steve feel _worse_. It must show on his face because James reaches out and cups his cheek gently, metal just a little cool on his skin. It both helps and makes Steve feel _more_ worse.

James doesn’t say anything, just looks at him with eyes that are both gentle and firm, but so much more gentle than they were when they first met, and Steve’s wings lower, leaning his face into James’ touch.

“How are you?” James asks, soft and quiet, and Steve can’t help smiling a little, even though he’s not really sure why, he just-

“I’m fine,” Steve replies, chest warm. James’ lips flatten a little so Steve keeps going. “Tired,” he adds reluctantly, sighing quietly, “But I don’t want to sleep.” James rubs his thumb under Steve’s eye and Steve’s eyelids droop a little, and when James leans in, Steve lets them close altogether.

Steve lets out a sigh through his nose, melts into the feel of James’ lips soft on his, patient, and his wings sag a little more at his back, angling towards him. James changes the angle of it a little and Steve reaches up, grabs his t-shirt sleeve and holds on, leaning into it a little more until he remembers-

He pulls back, eyes widening, and James blinks once before his lips pull down slightly, looking a little like a grumpy cat at having to _stop_.

“This room’s monitored,” Steve explains.

“Then I’ll take you some place that isn’t,” James replies, sliding his hand off of Steve’s cheek to take his hand, tugging gently. Steve lets it pull him and slides up off of the bed, letting James lead him out of the room and down the bright hall.

\--

The elevator takes them _down_ , lower than Steve’s original floor, and the doors open out onto the same layout as the higher residential ones. Tony must’ve had another set built in. There might even be more somewhere in the hundred floors the Tower has, it wouldn’t be surprising, Steve just didn’t have reason to think about it before now. He’s glad though, that there’s more. His floor got caught in the blast.

When they get inside, James leads him to the edge of the hallway straight ahead and stops, turning back to look at Steve. He raises his wings a little and tilts his head slightly, a question, and Steve nods.

James nods back and turns back around, leading him down the hall and pushing open the first door on the right with his freehand.

It’s the same setup as the room they shared on Steve’s floor, thinks they all probably have the same design layout, and Steve pauses when he sees the bed, just enough for James to turn back to him. He steps in close, brings his free hand up to cup Steve’s cheek and presses a light kiss to his lips, giving Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze. Steve lets his eyes fall closed for it, brief as it is.

“We don’t have to do anything,” James says, soft and quiet against his lips, and Steve looks at him, just him, not the room, not the bed, doesn’t think about anything but _James_.

He nods and leans in for another kiss before letting James pull him to the edge of the bed, following him onto it and shuffling to the center, both laying down on their sides to face one another. James’ hand rests light on his waist and Steve scoots forward, enough to press their foreheads together, wings sprawled out behind them both and trailing off the bed.

James’ arm wraps around him, metal firm and secure, and stares into his eyes. And it might be strange, for other people, but it relaxes Steve.

He doesn’t want to break the gentle quiet, but he thinks he should tell James.

“Lukin’s dead,” he says quietly, but James doesn’t react, “Did you know?”

James glances down for a moment before looking back up. “Bucky and I came to an understanding.”

Steve blinks, but James doesn’t continue so he doesn’t ask. That much, whatever they talked about, is between them.

“How does it make you feel?” James asks, quiet as usual and curious, too, and then it’s Steve’s turn to glance down. He shakes his head slightly, looking back up.

“Not much, for me,” he replies, and James tilts his head up slightly, “I’m glad he can’t do to anyone else what he did to all of us.” James lowers his head back down and nods, just a little, eyes closing.

“I just wanted him gone,” he says after a bit, when Steve thinks he won’t say anything, and Steve waits until James’ eyes are open before Steve angles his head and kisses him, short and soft.

“He’s gone,” Steve whispers against his lips, pulling his head back to look at him, and James nods again, looking back.

Steve’s eyelids start to droop and he forces them back open to find James smiling at him, just a little, gold sunlight shining in behind him and lighting up his edges in glow, reflecting off of his left arm. Steve can’t look away from him. James frowns a little, brows drawing together slightly.

“What is it?” he asks, quieter, and Steve blinks.

“Nothing,” he says, “Just…”

James looks like Bucky, logically, Steve _knows_ he looks like Bucky, but there’s so much that’s there that just... _isn’t_ Bucky.

It’s like before, when Steve saw two different people, except now he _knows_ that Bucky’s somewhere in the Tower, and James is... _here_.

Steve raises his hand, brushes his fingers over James’ cheek and back through his hair, brushing his bangs back off of his face. James’ eyes slip closed for a moment before he opens them again, eyes focusing on Steve, always focusing on Steve.

Steve thinks they’re lighter than Bucky’s, a lighter, colder blue, and his wings are darker, and his voice is more somber with a hint of a Russian accent, and he’s-

“Are you real?” Steve whispers, eyes transfixed, and James’ lips curve up again, an eyebrow with them.

“I am,” he says, sounding the barest hint of _amused_ , and Steve’s lips twitch, drawing his hand back. James shakes his head slightly and Steve stops, sliding it back through his hair.

“He actually _did it_ ,” Steve says in wonder, resting his hand on James’ cheek after, “It’s just _you_ in there.” James’ smile grows and the warmth in Steve’s chest blossoms further with it, sprouts on his face into a big smile.

Steve leans forward with a short laugh and presses their lips together, kissing James again and _again_. James pulls him closer until they’re snug together, chest to hip to thigh, and raises a wing, settling it over them both. When they break apart and Steve opens his eyes and sees it, it’s lit up by the sun, flecks of gold embedded deep, like James’ hair, barely visible. Steve raises his hand from James’ cheek to his wing, pauses and only lets his fingers brush the feathers when James nods his head. They tremble faintly under his hand and he looks back to James, whose eyes are closed. Steve stops and they crack open.

“New,” is all James says, stretching the wing up towards the ceiling, feathers bending forward when they meet it, and lowers it back down behind himself across the bed. Steve feels James’ arm lift a little off of his waist, feels a couple of his feathers shift like there’s a breeze. “I like this color better,” James says softly, looking at him. Steve looks back, expression serious, and leans in to kiss him again, firmer this time, wings shifting once.

Because Steve’s still getting used to it, being accepted, by _anyone_ that isn’t Bucky, and can’t help the slight tremors of emotions that ripple through him and out into his wings that James... _likes_ his color. Steve’s not sure if James is aware of how the colors work, that Steve’s technically isn’t considered one, but it’s…

It’s like he can breathe a little easier. Like the last claws of his old asthma have finally decided to let go and he can _take a breath_.

James returns each kiss, brushes his tongue along Steve’s lower lip and Steve opens his mouth, lets James’ tongue inside. Firm fingers slide down his spine and he shudders with a quiet sound, arching his back into it, wings spreading out behind him a little. It feels good, just that much, to be touched. He hasn’t been touched in-...

He _hasn’t_ , not outside of James, not like this.

The hand slides lower, over his ass and down a little before squeezing, pulling him closer when he makes another sound. James’ hips grind into his and Steve moans, lifts his leg and hooks it over James’ and grinds _back_ , can feel how hard James is through their sweatpants. James doesn’t make a sound, but his breathing picks up and his hand grips onto Steve tighter, and then Steve’s rolled onto his back and James is settling between his legs, bracing his right hand on the bed by Steve’s head and grinding _down_. Steve moans sharper into his mouth, one arm wrapped around James’ back under his wings and the other’s fingers buried in his hair, breath picking up.

James shifts and Steve feels fingers trail down his side, sending shivers and heat out from each point with each one, stopping at the top of his pants. James pulls his head back.

“I want…” he trails off quietly like he had in the shower at Stark’s house, staring down at Steve with his bangs framing his face, “Can I?” he asks, wings twitching faintly. Steve stares back and nods, his own wings doing the same.

James slides his fingers down under the elastic of Steve’s sweatpants and underwear, letting go of Steve’s ass and moving that hand to grip the other side of them. He slowly sits back on his knees between Steve’s legs while he pulls them down.

It takes a little maneuvering, but they get them off, and James sets them down towards the end of the bed before slowly sliding his fingers back up Steve’s legs to his thighs, up past his hips and underneath the edge of his shirt, pupils blown and wings trembling where they’re raised a bit, straining a little in restraint, but he moves slow, keeps his touches gentle. Steve bites his lower lip.

James gets his shirt off next, eyes on Steve’s the whole time, and sets it back with the rest before finally letting himself _look_. He’s seen Steve naked before, but this feels _different_ , and Steve barely dares to _breathe_ , feels like his breath is caught in his chest.

James’ gaze slides down, slow, almost feels like a _physical_ thing before just as slowly sliding back up, eyes finding Steve’s again, and it makes Steve hard, cock against his stomach.

Steve lets out a shaky breath.

This feels _a lot_ different.

James leans down over him, hands braced on the bed, and Steve keeps himself still. James presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, light and soft, and Steve lets out a quick breath. James shifts and slides his flesh fingers back through Steve’s hair, looking down at him from up close.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, almost a whisper, makes sure Steve’s watching him, and Steve swallows, feels his eyes sting a little. He wants to shake his head, tell James no, no he’s _not_ , but even when he disagrees with it, it’s hard to say that to the look in James’ eyes, soft and... _believing_.

Steve tilts his head up, kisses him for a moment, firm and deep, and then reaches down for James’ shirt, undoing the clasps with their eyes locked. James lets Steve slide it off of him and set it aside, then sits up to take his own pants off, them joining it.

And it’s the same with _him_. Steve’s seen him naked before, it’s even the same _body_ , or it looks like it, but it’s...

It’s _different_.

He’s heard guys talk about their first times, has even accidentally overheard some girls, and it’s-

Not all of them were the same, but the ones that said that, that it was _different_ looking at who you were with when they’d done it, with who you’d done _other_ things with _before_ , like it was the first time for _anything_ all _over again_ -

Steve thinks he gets it now.

James holds himself still, lets Steve look, expression patient, soft, wings trembling faintly, and Steve meets his eyes, finds words.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says, soft and quiet, not _ashamed_ but…afraid, maybe. Of what, he’s not sure. He’s got an accelerated healing rate, so even if there _is_ some pain or injury, he’s been through worse, he’ll be fine, it’s just-

He doesn’t want this to be like that.

“I know what to do,” James replies, just as soft and quiet. Steve turns his head left and right, spots a nightstand and nods his chin towards it.

“Stark’s probably got...” he trails off, because he knows at least _that_ much ( _on **both** counts_), what they’ll need and just who built this Tower, and sure enough, when James moves and leans over and gets the top drawer open, he pulls out a bottle of slick and a condom.

He settles back between Steve’s legs, setting the condom to the side and popping open the bottle. Steve swallows and James’ eyes dart up to his.

“It won’t hurt,” he reassures, leaning back down over him, coming in low and lowering his wings to be less domineering, and kisses Steve gently, “I won’t let it,” he whispers against Steve’s lips, eyes on his. Steve nods and kisses him again and James pulls back.

He coats his fingers and sets the bottle between his thighs and reaches forward, metal fingers gripping the top of Steve’s thigh with a gentle squeeze and flesh ones sliding between Steve’s cheeks. Steve’s wings give a _jerk_ and James pauses, looking up.

“Cold,” Steve says, embarrassed, and James nods slightly before sliding his fingers further, circling Steve’s entrance. Steve’s breath catches, muscles tensing, and James gently squeezes his thigh again, eyes back on his.

“Relax,” he says softly, and Steve takes a breath, holds it, and lets it out slow, letting his body melt back into the bed again.

One of the fingers circles his rim and Steve keeps breathing, keeps doing it when the tip of James’ finger nudges inside, stays relaxed when it slides in _further_ , and it feels-

It feels _weird_.

Steve takes a slow breath, forcing it to keep going when his breath tries to catch when James gets his finger all the way in, then slowly starts pulling it out.

“Okay?” James asks, still looking at him. Steve nods, and James keeps going.

James gets two in and it’s starting to feel...better. Steve’s flagged erection is starting to go hard again and he grips the sheets a little, breathing picked up at James’ fingers slowly sliding in and out. He can’t think straight when he imagines it’s something else instead and his cock gives a twitch.

James’ eyes have dropped back to his fingers, a look of concentration on his face, wings trembling and giving tiny jerks, and Steve’s about to ask if he’s okay when James’ fingers crook-

Steve’s wings _jolt_ and his back arches, head pushing back into the pillows and eyes squeezing shut while he gives a brief shout, toes curling against the bed and fingers clenching the sheets. He peels his eyes back open after the wave of pleasure eases enough to and looks down, panting, hears James’ breathing picked up with his own.

“What-” Steve tries, stopping when James adds more slick and he feels a _third_ finger, biting his lips at the stretch, wings trembling against the bed.

He’s covered in a light sweat after James curls his fingers for the third time, and when he gets his eyes open again he can see James isn’t faring much better.

“ _James_ ,” Steve pants, after feeling James’ fingers stretch him open further, scissoring and _spreading_ and _overwhelming_ and Steve _moans_. James stops, slides his fingers out and reaches for the condom, wiping his fingers on the bed first to get it open. Steve moans quietly at the loss, eyes following his movements.

James rolls it on and pours more slick into his palm, coats his cock with it and shuffles a little closer on his knees, close enough that Steve’s legs brush over the tops of his thighs and angle out in a ‘v’, James’ fingers, _still_ gentle, gripping his hips. He pauses again and looks up at Steve, panting softly and wings trembling, whole body tense and strained with how much he’s holding himself back, making himself go slow.

“Steve,” he says quietly, waiting, and Steve reaches up, cups James’ face in his hands and pulls him down. James shifts a hand forward to brace himself on the bed to lean down over him and Steve kisses him, soft and fervent.

“ _I need_ -” Steve cuts himself off, panting against James’ lips and James panting against _his_. There’s barely any blue in James’ eyes, but Steve can see the thin ring of it this close, and then James’ fingers grip his hip more firmly and his cock nudges Steve’s entrance, and Steve has to struggle to keep his eyes open.

He stretches _more_ around James’ cock, enough to feel it, just shy of overwhelming, but it doesn’t hurt and James slides in slow. Steve watches James’ eyes squeeze shut up close and feels James’ punched out breaths puff against his lips, James’ head bowing slightly and wings shaking. Steve’s own wings shake against the bed and he slides a hand down, gripping James’ right shoulder and moving the other down to grip his hip, holding on and trying to make himself keep _breathing_. And when James gets all the way inside they _both_ suck in a breath, holding still.

It feels, _it feels_ -

James takes three more slow breaths and then lets go of Steve’s hip to brace both hands on the bed by his shoulders, and he slowly starts to slide out. Steve clenches around him involuntarily, letting out a long, quiet moan, and James’ breath stutters and his wings give a sharp twitch, but he keeps the same pace, pulling partway out before just as _slowly_ sliding back _in_. It _feels_ -

Steve doesn’t have words, can’t think past the feel of their bodies joined together and the scarred skin beneath his hands, James’ breaths on his face and shadows of his wings slanted across his skin, heart beating quick in his ears. His wings fan out across the bed, pitch black feathers spreading invitingly.

After a few minutes of the same pace, Steve squeezes James’ hip and shoulder and James picks it up, moves his hips and his cock in and out of Steve steadily. James finally lifts his head and looks at Steve, eyes a little glassy but focused, focused on _him_ , and Steve leans his head up and James leans his down, lips meeting in the middle while he starts rocking his hips faster.

Their kisses go open mouthed and sloppy while Steve moans on each thrust, and James breaks it to lean up a little further, hips moving a little faster while he presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead. Steve’s eyes squeeze closed, wrapping his arms and legs around James and gripping onto him tighter. James starts grinding his hips down on each thrust and Steve’s moans get louder as his cock rubs against the hard planes of James’ lower stomach, leaking precome between them.

“ _James_ ,” Steve moans, head falling back. James’ mouth finds his neck and Steve feels his tongue and lips on his overheated skin, sucking a bruise that will only last a couple of hours, giving up and just panting into Steve’s skin when his thrusts get too quick to keep it up.

“I’m gonna-” Steve moans after a couple minutes, fingertips and heels pressing down into James’ skin. James changes the angle and _snaps_ his hips into him _hard_ and Steve pushes his head back into the pillows while his back arches with a _shout_ , pulls James as close as he can while he comes, panting.

He’s vaguely aware of James thrusting three more times before he grinds into Steve _deep_ on the last and then stills, a quiet, deep groan muffled into the skin between Steve’s neck and shoulder when he comes, wings shoving _down_ into Steve’s and feathers slotting together like fingers lacing, filling all of the empty spaces.

James lowers himself down, panting hotly into the side of Steve’s neck while Steve comes down from the stars, limbs slowly going loose but still holding on.

James doesn’t slide out right away, holds there and mouths gentle, breathy kisses into his skin, right hand finding Steve’s and tangling their fingers together. Steve cracks his eyes open, finds James’ left and tangles those together, too.

James gives Steve’s right hand a gentle squeeze with it, tilting his head up and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of Steve’s jaw.

“I love you,” Steve hears near his ear, so quiet, and Steve has to take a moment, isn’t sure he heard it, something in his gut clenching while his heart beats faster. Steve slides a hand up from James’ hip to his hair, and James tilts his head up when Steve cups his cheek, but keeps his eyes down, like he’s…

“I love you, too,” Steve whispers back, and James eyes shift up, widening a little.

Steve can feel James’ wings trembling again where they’re mixed and pressed with his own and when James moves, it’s slow, leans his head up while Steve moves his own and kisses him, light and fragile.

James pulls out after a minute, slow and careful, gets the condom off and ties it closed, setting it to the side before settling again, pressing his face into the side of Steve’s neck and wrapping his arms around him. Steve strokes his fingers through James’ hair and rests his cheek against the top of his head, letting his eyes fall closed, their bodies tangled together, wound on the bed like two strings.

Red and Blue.

Steve doesn’t want to fall asleep, afraid he’ll feel what he did earlier, what he did _before_ , feel like he’s falling and falling with no way to stop, wings useless in the pitch.

But he drifts off anyway with his heart beating, warm and steady, and James’ is like a drum that beats through their chests to his own, following him into the dark.

And it’s foolish to think, but maybe it’ll keep Steve from falling this time.


	30. The heart wants what it wants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for sex and selfcest? I mean technically yes and technically no.  
> Also, because I said this to someone last night and they were kind of like WHAT NO WHY. The selfcest is not going to be a romantic relationship, it's purely experimental, curiosity sex. With some snarking.

When Steve stirs and cracks his eyes open, James is sitting on his knees in dying light. 

The sun is below the horizon and the colors spill out, paint the room between warm and cool, all purples hues and faded peach. It lights up James’ skin where it reaches, puts the rest in shadow and makes his wings edge closer to black in the shade. Steve’s struck with the way he looks, head turned a bit and eyes focused on some point out the window that Steve can’t see. 

Steve’s fingers twitch with the urge to draw him.

“What are you looking at?” he asks groggily, clearing his throat quietly and rubbing at his eyes with a few fingers. James doesn’t move.

“The city,” he responds quietly, wings giving the smallest twitch, “It is always busy.” Steve considers that.

“You don’t like it?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know,” James replies, quieter, and shifts his eyes to Steve, the remaining light making them almost white where it hits through the sides.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve finds himself saying, almost like a puppet, like he can’t help it. Because James is, and it’s not enough, but it’s all Steve’s got right now.

James wings shift a little, a slight flutter, but he doesn’t flush, and then he’s leaning down and kissing Steve, firm but gentle.

Something feels a little off in Steve, but Steve’s not sure what.

\--

“Run it.”

“ _I don’t know **why** you’re playing so hard to get_ -”

“ _Just run it, Stark_ ,” Bucky drawls, Brooklyn accent getting heavier. 

There’s a put upon _sigh_ over the speakers and then the fans in the walls start up. Bucky spreads his wings as he launches himself off of the raised platform.

He starts wobbling a little when he reaches the first fabricated current, beats his wings a little more firmly to correct it before the next one tilts his balance too much and he flips, tumbles and lands in a heap for the fifth time on the cushy mats on the floor. He pushes himself up to his hand and knees.

“ _I **told** you it wouldn’t **work**_ ,” Stark says unhelpfully, the fans winding down and the raised platform sinking back into the floor. Bucky stands up. 

“When I _want_ your opinion, I’ll let you _know_ ,” Bucky snarks back, but he knows Stark’s right, and he _hates_ it.

He retreats from the training room for now, mentally cursing himself the whole way, when he spots Sam heading in his direction, gym bag in hand.

“Didn’t go well?” Sam asks, pausing in the hall. Bucky stops, too.

“I tumbled like a fuckin’ _toddler_ ,” he grouses, wings giving an annoyed twitch.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Sam reassures, offering him a smile.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Bucky says, a little sarcastically, “Get the hang of it or let _Stark_ get his grubby _hands_ all over me.”

“ _I **heard** that_ ,” Stark’s voice comes from somewhere up in the ceiling. Bucky flips it off.

“Look,” Sam says more seriously, and Bucky turns his attention back to him, “I’ve seen guys who’ve lost some. I know how hard it is to get back into the swing of things.” Bucky’s wings still and lower slightly. Sam just smiles again, wings still, confident. “ _You’ll get the hang of it_ ,” he says, so sure, and it’s hard to say _no_ in the face of all that... _sure_ -ness. Steve really knows how to collect the best of’em.

Bucky blows out a breath and nods his head slightly, and Sam nods back before continuing on his way for one of the gyms.

Bucky heads down the opposite direction and takes the elevator up to the communal floor. When he gets out, he quickly spots Steve and James, and maybe it’s all his experience, but Bucky can _tell_.

They’re just sitting at the bar together, turned towards one another with their wings brushing like high school sweethearts, but maybe that’s what does it.

James notices him first, Bucky can tell by how his wings go a little more still when Bucky’s just a few steps into the room, but Bucky’s not really surprised. Either James is just that good, or they’re both just sensitive to each other enough to pick up on each other in the same vicinity. It’s a toss up, because Bucky knows he really _is_ that good (a little more than _he_ is).

“Oh, hey, Buck,” Steve says, wings perking up a bit more, “What happened?” he asks, frowning at him.

“Nothin’,” Bucky says, just as Stark walks in and says-

“He can’t fly worth _shit_ right now.”

Steve’s head snaps in Tony’s direction while Bucky _groans_. He can see James still looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Why?” he hears Steve ask while pulling a glass out of one of the cupboards and heading for the sink, “Because of- Oh.” Bucky fills his glass up and takes a long swallow, kinda wishes it were something stronger. Maybe he’ll look into that.

“And he’s playing harder to get than _Liam Neeson_ for _**Taken 3**_ ,” Tony gripes, pulling a packet of blueberries out of the fridge, “ _Just let me build you the **arm**_ ,” he whines like a five year old. Bucky rolls his eyes, gets a glimpse of James looking back at Steve, now.

“If he doesn’t want you to, you should just drop it,” Steve says calmly, glancing up from his newspaper.

“He wants me to,” Tony says, “He just wants to think he’s torturing me first.” Bucky snorts.

“I _am_ torturing you,” he drawls with a smirk. Tony’s feathers puff up a bit before he scoffs, turning his head to the side and tossing a few blueberries into his mouth.

“ _Honey_ ,” he says, looking at Bucky like he’s _bored_ , “I _know_ how to play the waiting game.”

“ _No you don’t_ ,” Bucky, James, and Steve all say at once. Tony makes an indignant, offended face at the three of them and Steve coughs to cover up a laugh. Even James’ lips twitch up.

Bucky finishes his glass of water and puts it in the dishwasher and then James nudges Steve’s wing with his own. Steve glances over at James and then they both get up, Steve collecting his newspaper and mug of coffee to take with him.

“Where are _you_ two lovebirds off to?” Tony asks with a leer.

“Tony,” Steve says mock seriously (that Bucky can tell; he’s not sure if anyone _else_ can), pausing at the elevator to turn around and give him a _Captain America_ face, “It worries me how invested you are in my sex life.”

“Well _someone_ has to be,” Tony retorts, which gets him a _look_ from James that makes him keep his mouth shut until they’re both packed away in the elevator and the doors are closed, Steve grinning a bit like a little shit until they can’t see him anymore. “ _Defensive much?_ ” Tony asks, popping a few more blueberries into his mouth. Bucky just rolls his eyes again, grabbing a mug out of a cupboard and heading for the coffee machine.

“I hate to make the comparison,” Bucky starts seriously, but trying to keep his tone light while he pours himself coffee, “Really, genuinely hate it, but he’s like a guard dog. You fuck with Steve he’s going to tear you up like a holiday roast given to a starved mutt.” Tony makes a quiet, thoughtful sound, wings shifting in the corner of Bucky’s eye, and Bucky takes his coffee over to the bar, taking Steve’s empty stool. It’s still warm.

“You know, you’re not doing the _one thing_ that everyone here would want to do,” Tony says after a moment, leaning opposite him on the bar. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his coffee before saying, “You mean what _you_ would want to do.” Tony waves a dismissive hand.

“Point is,” he starts, “You can _literally_ kiss yourself, and you haven’t. Why haven’t you _Carpe Diem’d_ him? _Seized_ the moment?” 

Bucky swallows wrong on his next mouthful and coughs, takes a moment to clear it out. “I’m not-”

“ _Really?_ ” Tony asks flatly before he can finish, raising a brow at him, “You’ve _never_ thought about it?” Tony stands back up. “I find that hard to believe, looking the way _you_ do.” Bucky raises his own eyebrow, a smirk tugging up his lips, and Tony just smirks back, eyebrows lifting. “That’s right, Barnes,” he says, heading for the elevator, “Even _I_ know you’re both hot stuff, and given the chance, I would certainly jump _myself_.” 

Bucky shakes his head with a laugh while Tony disappears into the elevator with his damn blueberries and cocky grin, then looks down into his coffee cup, eyes catching on his reflection. 

He glances to his left in thought at where James had been sitting.

\--

The problem is, Bucky can’t get it out of his _head_ the next couple days.

The other problem is, he can’t actually _stare_ at James to try and work it out because James is like an...an _everything_ detector. You move wrong and he’ll _know_ it. He can’t help it.

Doesn’t mean Bucky hasn’t once or twice (and _yes_ , James _did_ catch him. Both times).

“Would you be mad if I kissed myself?” Bucky asks, flipping a pancake, and isn’t _that_ a weird sentence. 

Sharon doesn’t pause where she’s stirring the scrambled eggs next to him which probably says a lot (either about the life she leads, or him, or both). “Not as long as he’s okay with it,” she replies calmly.

That makes Bucky pause long enough he almost burns the pancake.

Bucky flips it onto the plate with the others and sets the pan and pancake turner down, turning the burner off and turning to her.

“You are the best girlfriend ever,” he states. Her lips quirk up and she turns her own burner off as she scoops the eggs out into a large bowl, raising an eyebrow down at them. 

“Is that what I am?” she asks. His wings freeze.

“I- If you-” he stutters. _Fuck_ , he really _is_ a toddler. “If that’s what you want to be.”

She sets the pan and spoon down on an unused burner and turns to look at him, smile easing down. “Do _you_ want me to be?”

“Do _you?_ ” he asks back, wincing a little, “I mean me as your boyfriend. Not girlfriend. _Yes_ ,” he forces out, half just to make himself _shut. Up_. _**Jesus** , Barnes_.

Her lips curve up again and her wings flutter a little, and the tension eases a little out of his shoulders and his own wings, letting them flutter a little back as his own lips start to curve up.

“I’d like that,” she replies, softer, and he grins, slow and wide, then reaches forward and loops his arm around her waist, stepping away from the stove far enough to swing her ‘round. She laughs, hands on his shoulders, and he loves the sound of it.

“ _Your wish is my command_ ,” he says lower after he sets her back down, faces close. She raises an eyebrow.

“No one ever tell you that you’re a walking _cheesefest?_ ” she teases. He waggles his eyebrows.

“Ain’t never gotten any complaints, _ma’am_ ,” he teases back. She punches his shoulder with a scowl and his wings jerk.

“Call me that again, Sergeant, and I won’t do that thing you love,” she threatens.

“Which thing?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. She leans in a little closer.

“That thing I do with my _tongue_ -” she breathes against his lips.

“I ain’t never callin’ you that again,” he says quickly, closing the distance to kiss her firm and sweet, smiling into it when he feels her do the same. “You’re the best, doll,” he says when they break apart. She gives him a _look_. “Woman?” he tries, “Agent?”

Her lips quirk up.

\--

“...- _eve?_ ”

He stares, hears something just barely through the rushing in his ears-

“ _Steve?_ ”

He blinks, finds himself staring in the mirror, toothbrush in hand and toothpaste rimming the inside edges of his lips.

“Steve?”

His head snaps to the left, eyes a little wide and wings flared a bit, blinks at James standing in the bathroom doorway, brows drawn together and worry in his eyes.

“Yeah?” Steve replies, wincing a little when some of the toothpaste burns down his throat. He turns his head back around and spits a little of it out, turning the faucet on and cupping his hand under the stream before bringing it to his mouth and swishing it around, spitting it and the toothpaste out into the sink.

“Are you okay?” James asks, and Steve rinses his toothbrush off, shakes his wings out a little.

“Yeah,” he replies, setting his toothbrush in the cup on the back of the sink with the other and glancing into the mirror as he turns, walking to James and flicking the light off when he gets to him, “Yeah. I’m fine.” James doesn’t look convinced, but moves to the side after another few moments to let Steve pass, wings brushing as Steve goes.

\--

Bucky is staring at him again.

James knows Bucky knows _he_ knows that Bucky’s staring at him again.

James finally gives up and decides to turn from the Wing Chun wooden dummy and stare back.

Bucky’s feathers flare slightly and his eyes widen a little, punches stopping on the punching bag, but he doesn’t look away and James is curious.

It stays that way for another minute or so before Bucky seems to steel himself and walk over, and James watches.

“Don’t punch me,” Bucky says a few feet away, and then he closes the space between them and-

James blinks, a shudder going through him at the strange sensation of... _his_ lips on... _his lips_.

He stares at Bucky’s closed eyes, wings still, and then sweeps a foot around from the outside of Bucky’s calf, sweeping him off his feet. Bucky goes down with a surprised sound and flailing wings, eyes wide.

“I said-” Bucky starts.

“I didn’t punch you,” James replies, eyebrow raising a little. Bucky stares back, surprised, before he lets out a huff, dropping his head to the mat before pushing himself back up to his feet.

“Weird?” he asks, shaking his wings out a bit. James thinks about it, eyes on him.

“Undecided.”

Bucky gives him a considering look. “Try again?”

“Undecided,” Jame repeats, turning back to his dummy.

“Steve won’t be mad,” Bucky says after a minute. James doesn’t look at him. He hears Bucky sigh and then the sound of punches on the bag again a moment later, and lets himself get lost in the routine for a while longer.

\--

“Would you be mad if I kissed Bucky?” he asks. The fingers removing the loose feathers in his wings still and he catches Steve leaning a little out of the corner of his eye to look at him. James looks over.

“You kissed _Bucky?_ ” Steve asks, eyebrows raised and wings flared a bit in surprise. James shakes his head a little and, surprisingly, Steve snorts. “ _Bucky_ kissed _you_ ,” he surmises, and James nods a little. Steve retreats behind his back again and his fingers start working out more loose feathers. “I feel like I should’ve seen that coming.” James’ brows draw together a little.

“Why?” he asks. He hears Steve snort again softly.

“Because _of_ _course_ he would,” Steve replies, and James supposes that’s true. He hasn’t known Bucky long enough to fully determine it for himself, but it seems to make sense.

“You’re not mad,” James states, not sure how to feel about it. Relieved, mostly.

“Did you want me to be?” Steve asks, quieter, but James is shaking his head before Steve can finish. “I guess it’s just…” Steve trails off after a minute, fingers pausing, and James waits, “He’s not _stealing you away_ or anything, I know he wouldn’t, Bucky doesn’t do things like that. ...Unless the guy deserves it,” Steve adds in a mutter. James’ lips quirk up a little, though he’s not entirely sure why, but it’s easy to picture. “It’s... _I_ don’t know,” Steve says with a huff of a sigh, fingers starting up again, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t feel like I should tell you to do anything, you’ve had enough of that, but it’s...I’m trying to wrap my head around it, but I don’t think I can. Not yet, anyway.” James thinks that over for a few minutes.

“You won’t hate me?” he asks, because he’s not sure what Bucky will do or what he will do, and he doesn’t...He won’t do _anything_ if Steve doesn’t like it. 

The fingers in his wings still again and then Steve’s leaning around his side again, closer this time.

“Hey,” he says softly, and James looks over at him. “I will _never_ hate you,” Steve says seriously, and James stills further.

“You can’t promise that,” he replies, voice quiet, but Steve shakes his head.

“I _can_ ,” he says firmly, leaning in close to push their foreheads together, “ _I will never hate you, James_ ,” he almost whispers, “I can’t. I couldn’t when you shot and stabbed me, and I don’t when you’ve kissed Bucky. It’s not in me,” he finishes with a slight shake of his head, like he can’t help expressing it further. The backs of James’ eyes sting a little and he angles his head forward, presses a kiss to Steve’s lips.

Steve kisses him back before smiling at him softly and...with _love_ before slowly pulling back a little more. “Okay?” he asks. James nods his head slightly, blinking a few times.

“Okay.”

Steve shifts back behind him again, fingers moving softer on his wings.

“Will it hurt you?” James asks after a minute of quiet movements, voice hushed. Steve’s fingers pause for a moment before James hears him blow out a soft breath.

“No,” he decides, “I don’t think so.”

James considers that for a minute before reaching back. Steve takes his hand and twines their fingers together. James half turns to look back at him.

“Once,” he decides, because he wants to know, too. 

Steve looks at him for a few moments and then nods with a small quirk of his lips, giving James’ fingers a gentle squeeze that James returns.

\--

James leaves the bed after Steve’s asleep, doesn’t want to leave him alone while he’s awake, thinking about it makes him feel... _wrong_. He does not want to make Steve think he does not care enough for him to leave him when they are spending _their_ time together.

He keeps his steps silent as he leaves the floor, takes the elevator down to Bucky and Sharon’s and stops at the door, stands there for a minute before knocking. It’s what people do.

Bucky answers the door, doesn’t look surprised, and steps back and opens the door wider for him. 

James walks in.

“Once,” James says, turning to look at him while Bucky closes the door. Bucky nods and heads for the hall, leading the way while James follows.

“Sharon’s out with Natasha and Clint,” Bucky says, which would explain why James doesn’t hear her. “God help me with _that_ alliance,” he hears Bucky mutter, leading the way into the second bedroom down the hall, if their floors are all designed the same ( _they seem to be_ ).

“Have you done this before?” James asks when they stop in the bedroom and Bucky turns to look at him, shrugging his wings.

“Might’ve,” he says, trying to think, “During the war. Maybe before it. Quick fucks here and there.” Bucky raises an eyebrow, lips tugging up in a small smirk. “I know _you_ have,” he adds, and James just looks at him for a moment before opening his mouth- 

“ _Don’t_ give me the details,” Bucky cuts in, “I don’t want to think about _Steve_ having _sex_. _God_ , I just _said it_.” He covers his eyes with his hand andgroans, dropping it and shaking his head a little while shaking his wings out, like that will get rid of the image. “Speaking of,” he continues, “This is no strings attached,” he warns, just in case...Well. It’s not likely that they’ll develop _feelings_ for each other, but you never know. 

James moves forward, slow and deadly, like a prowl, and stops an inch away. “It wouldn’t be anything else,” he says quietly. Bucky nods and then they’re both leaning forward, lips meeting and it’s-

It’s still _fucking weird_ , but-

But Bucky likes it, too.

He reaches up and grips James carefully by the back of the neck, feels the muscles tense there before James is shoving him forward and Bucky’s wings flail, lands on his back on the bed with an _oomf_. James moves forward and straddles his hips before he can say anything, hand flying up to grab James’ hip when James grinds _down_ , Bucky’s breath stuttering.

“ _Okay_ ,” Bucky mumbles, watching James strip his own shirt off, “Won’t be gentle then.”

“It’s not for you,” James replies, shifting to get his pants off and Bucky’s eyes drop down. 

Fuck, even their _cocks_ look the same.

“Fine with me,” he gets out, working on getting his own clothes off while James moves off of him to rummage in one of the bedside nightstands. He drops two condoms and a bottle of lube on the bed before straddling Bucky again just after Bucky’s gotten his pants kicked off, lining their cocks up then _stroking_ , spreading the precome down when either of their cocks leaks and Bucky pushes his head back into the bed with a low _groan,_ wings twitching. Bucky snags the lube up and pops it open, manages to get some all over his hand before closes it with his cheek and drops it back to the bed. 

Bucky reaches down between them, James lifting his hips up with eyes on Bucky’s (and it’s like looking into a slightly twisted, fucking _mirror_ ) while Bucky reaches back, _back_ and _up_ with his own eyes on _James’_ , slides his fingers between James’ cheeks and pushes the wet tip of one inside. 

James doesn’t make a sound, but his movements pause. He leans forward and braces his right hand on the bed as his eyes slip closed, wings stilling, and Bucky watches his face as he slides his finger further into the tight heat, enraptured at watching his _own face,_ his _own muscles_ _tensing_ , and looking for signs of discomfort. When he starts setting up a pace, James visibly relaxes into it with a concentrative look on his face, eyes opening again after a moment.

His eyes are lighter than Bucky’s. 

James starts stroking them in his left hand again, metal cool enough to make Bucky’s wings twitch against the bed and his finger stutters before he picks the pace back up, a shudder running down his spine at the near sense of deja vu. James strokes them like Bucky does, even with the metal hand, but _not_ , just slightly _off_ from how _Bucky_ does it.

When Bucky gets two fingers in and _crooks_ them, James stills again and his mouth falls open a little on no sound, a shudder running through him and out through his wings. Bucky’s eyes dart from his face to them, watches them tremble like his do when _he_ likes something, then does it again, knows _James_ _likes_ it. James’ wings give a _jerk_ , left hand squeezing around their cocks, metal hard and dangerous, and something about that makes Bucky _harder_ , even though he still kind of _hates_ the thing.

Bucky works quick because James’ hand on them isn’t _stopping_ , and stops after he thrusts three fingers into James a few times, pulling them out and wiping them on the bed before shoving at James’ left shoulder a little and reaching for a condom, tearing it open with his fingers and teeth. 

James gets the hint and stops stroking, takes the opened condom from Bucky and slides it on him. He takes Bucky’s cock in hand and raises his hips, just enough to brush the head of Bucky’s cock against his entrance, circles his hips around it minutely, experimentally, about to make Bucky _whine_ with it ( _because, **fuck** , is that what **he** feels like?_ ) before he slowly, _finally_ starts sinking _down_ -

A breath punches itself out of Bucky, body and wings tensing, and James picks up on it, is quick to stop and grip the base of Bucky’s cock in metal fingers to keep him from coming. 

And Bucky _does_ whine at that, only a little ways into the tight, slick heat, because James _knew_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky groans, teeth clenching. James snorts quietly.

“Impatient,” he says, and Bucky _just_ manages to give him a _look_ before James is sliding down again and Bucky throws his head back with another groan, panting, James’ hand still gripped firm around the base of his cock. 

Bucky tries to think of something, _anything_ to take the edge off and distract from his oncoming orgasm, and James _thankfully_ gives him the time to do that, sitting still on top of him. 

After a couple of minutes, Bucky looks back up at him and nods his head, and James lets go of his cock to sink the last few inches down, what Bucky can see of his dark wings trembling faintly. 

Bucky stares up at James and James stares down, Bucky’s cock buried in him, and it’s still fuckin’ _weird_ -

And then James is shifting his hips experimentally, teeth clenching and brow furrowing in concentration, and Bucky’s brain short circuits a bit and he stops thinking about how _weird_ it is and instead thinks of how _hot_ it is, watching himself, yet not, _moving_ on his _cock_. James starts rocking, quickly picking up the pace, and Bucky grabs onto his hip _hard_.

“ _Fuck_ , you _look_ -” he pants, hips grinding up into James when James’ wings relax a bit and the concentration starts melting from his expression to give way to pleasure.

“Stop. _Talking_ ,” James grits out, dropping his left hand to the bed by Bucky’s head and leaning forward to change the angle. He still doesn’t make a sound besides his quiet panting but his eyes close halfway when he rotates his hips slow while Bucky thrusts up into him _harder_.

“ _I’ll talk- If I want to_ -” Bucky pants out, squeezing James’ hip harder while his wings jerk against the bed, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces them back open, wants to watch, “ _Fuck_ , _m’not gonna last long_ ,” he moans.

“I couldn’t- _tell_ -” James pants back, sucking in a breath when Bucky lets go of James' hip to grab his cock instead and starts stroking fast.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Bucky pants back, and a minute later he’s coming with James’ orgasm painting up his chest, head pushed back but eyes on James’ face, moaning loud at the release and the _sight_ , wings jerking sharply against the bed.

He watches James pull off and feels him settle on the bed next to him, both of them panting while their wings brush up against each other. They both pull their own in closer so they don’t touch. 

Bucky lifts up the second condom between them after a few minutes and looks over.

“Your turn,” he says.

James looks at him for a moment before taking it.

\--

He keeps his steps just as silent going in as he did going out, slips back into the bed and scoots close enough to wind his arms around Steve’s waist, damp hair pressing between his cheek and the pillow and sore in a place that won’t be for much longer. Steve’s wings shift a little, beautiful and still the darkest thing in the room, even with the lights off, and he feels light fingers and then a gentle but firm hand on top of his, holding there.

“How’d it go?” Steve asks, quiet and voice rough from sleep. James presses in closer to nose at the back of Steve’s neck. He takes a moment to think, Steve waiting patiently.

“Finished,” he decides, pressing a kiss to the back of Steve’s neck. 

Steve laces their fingers together with a gentle squeeze before yawning and James squeezes back, resting his forehead to the back of Steve’s head and lowering a wing across them both, letting his eyes slip closed. 

James doesn’t need to know anything more about himself and Bucky.

\--

Bucky hears her steps first and then the apartment door opening and closing, hears shoes slipped off at the door and softer steps before the bedroom door is pushed open. She pauses for a moment.

“Well don’t _you_ look like the cat that was brought back by satisfaction,” she says, unbuttoning her blouse as she heads for the dresser, “He showed up.”

“He did,” Bucky confirms, scratching his stomach a little above the sheets.

“You sound sure he’d show,” she says, in the bathroom now. He watches her take off her eyeliner.

“Curiosity,” he answers, tilting his head back a little on the headboard, “I knew he’d show up.”

“Careful,” she says, flicking the light off and walking to the end of the bed, crawling up onto it, “You’re starting to sound like Stark.” He sits up, grips her waist over her long t-shirt when she straddles him and looks up at her.

“ _Please_ don’t ever mention him in the bedroom,” he groans, “Or on this whole floor. The Tower? Maybe the whole _world_.” She snorts a quiet laugh and leans down, meeting him for a kiss. She grinds down a little over the sheets and he makes a cross between a hum and a moan into her mouth, fingers tightening on her hip.

“Ready go to already, I see,” she says when they break apart, raising an eyebrow down at him.

“The _only_ perk of that damn serum,” he mumbles against her lips, aside from the healing and agility. He kisses her again, doesn’t want to think about it, and tastes mint toothpaste. “You brushed your teeth before you got here,” he says, raising his eyebrows up at her with a cocky little grin, “ _Now_ who’s ready to go.”

“One of the waiters was hot,” she says back, wings fluttering playfully when his own sink a little with a pout.

“Usin’ and abusin’, darlin’,” he mock-complains, and she quirks her lips, gripping the back of his neck gently and tracing his pout with the index finger of her other hand.

“You’ve never complained,” she teases back, and he gives a conceding hum, sliding his hand down her hip to her knee and getting his fingers up under her shirt, pushing it up and feeling nothing but skin all the way back up to her hip.

“Well _damn_ ,” he breathes, “ _Really_ ready.”

“Never complained about that, either,” she teases again, lower, meeting him for a deeper kiss.

When they shove the sheet down and put a condom on him and he slides into her, hot and tight around him, her breath hitches, just a little, on the softest sound he’s ever heard, just like it always does. 

And when they move together, foreheads touching and eyes half closed, looking at each other, he wraps his arm tighter around her waist and their moans mix, breaths just as tangled in the scant space between them.

And when he comes after he watches her eyelids flutter with her own release, her feathers mashed and mixed with his own, gold on white, he thinks James was right, like he usually is.

Once was enough.

-

“I think I’ll let him,” he says after, head pillowed on her shoulder and her arms around him.

“Hm?” she asks, running fingers through his hair.

“About the arm,” he says, quieter, feeling her fingers still, “I think I’ll let him put it on.” Her fingers pick back up after a moment and then he feels her lips on his forehead another moment later.

“If that’s what you want,” she says softly, and the fact that she doesn’t care either way, not beyond his own comfort, is what seals it for him.

Bucky lets his eyes slip closed.

\--

_He’s not sure where he is, just that everything is black._

_Something brushes his shoulder, his arms and legs._

_It burns. It burns like acid._

_“I’m dreaming,” he says to himself, breathing heard from smoke he can’t see and chest tight like it’s affecting his asthma, which he doesn’t-_

_“I’m dreaming,” Steve repeats, as firm as he can, feels the tips of his wings singe._

_“Are you **sure?** ” he hears from... **everywhere**._

_There’s light, suddenly, and Steve’s blinded for a moment, raises his arm to block it. He lowers it slowly, spinning in place._

_Everything is on fire._


	31. Red is for Hell

“Rotate it forward. Back. Forward again. Make a peace sign-”

“ _Stark_.” Bucky sends him a _look_.

“ _Fine_ ,” Tony complains, wings jutting out a little, “Don’t propagate world peace. Whatever. But you _do_ need to roll this,” he adds, tossing Bucky a wrench from nowhere that Bucky catches with his left hand without looking, “Test the fine motor control. Though, _I_ made it, so it should- There we go.”

Bucky twirls the wrench, metal on metal, then flips it up in the air and catches it like a knife. Habit.

“Looks like everything’s working perfectly,” Bruce reports from another screen by another workbench, leaning forward a little on his stool with slightly shifting wings while he studies the screen. He looks over at Bucky. “All of the readings are normal. Any sign of discomfort?” Bucky rotates the arm again, considering.

“None that I can tell,” he answers, while Stark’s wings wave from side to side and then flutter, grinning like a damn _two year old_.

 _Guess he has the right to_ , Bucky concedes, forcing the smile to stay off his face. No good lettin’ Stark see it.

“You did good Stark, Banner,” he says, standing up from his own stool, “I owe you.”

“It’s no problem at all, Bucky,” Banner says, at the same time Stark says, “Lavish me with _praise_ ,” hand to his chest and wings raised a little like he’s some sort of _king_. Banner gives him an amused look while Bucky just rolls his eyes.

“Just…” Bucky trails off quieter. Stark’s wings lower again and he and Banner both focus on him. “Thanks. For this,” Bucky lifts his left hand, makes a fist with the sleek metal, “It means a lot.”

“It was our genuine pleasure,” Banner replies, beating Stark to it before he can say something _else_ ridiculous.

Bucky smiles and nods, turning and heading for the elevator.

\--

“Hey, Rogers.”

Steve blinks, turning towards the voice, a little dazed.

“Hey, Nat,” he says back, trying to cover it. Her eyes narrow slightly but she seems to let whatever it is go after a moment, stopping next to and turning to look out at the city with him.

“Quite the view,” she comments.

“Yeah,” he says, looking back out at it.

He doesn’t remember walking up here to-

“I heard Barnes’ new arm works perfectly,” she says, adding casually, “The first thing he’ll do is arm wrestle James.” A laugh surprises itself out of him, which might’ve been the goal, but he lets it roll through him.

“You think?” he asks, looking back at her. She gives him a sly smile.

“Speaking of which,” she starts, “Where _is_ your shadow?” Steve quirks a brow with a wry smile, shaking his head a little.

“He and Barton went down to the shooting range,” he replies, and she inclines her head slightly.

“He’s vetting them,” she says, teasing.

“Barton?” Steve asks, raising a wing a little in question, “Why?”

“Ooh,” she draws out with a hum, “Two more snipers in the same building? Even Clint needs friends, Steve,” she teases again with a small smirk. Steve laughs again and shakes his head, finally letting himself turn away from the window.

“Wanna spar?” he asks, and she turns with him, brows rising a little with a small curve of her lips.

\--

“ _Weeeeeeeeel-sooooooon!_ ” Tony calls.

“ _Preeeeeeee-zeeeeent!_ ” Sam calls back. Tony’s wings flutter as he drops on the couch next to him.

“ _Finally_ ,” Tony says, exasperatedly, “Someone who’s _seen_ that little nugget of gold.” Sam snorts a laugh and offers Tony a controller.

“You play?” he asks. Tony gives him a shark-like grin.

“ _Always_ ,” he replies quick, snatching it out of Sam’s hand, and Sam rolls his eyes. “Mario Kart?” Tony continues, wings fluttering a little, “Oh, _I play_.”

-

They’re halfway through their third game, both tilting this way and that while they steer their go-karts on the split screen when Tony says-

“So can you explain it to me in a way I understand?”

Sam frowns, trying to concentrate on a sudden turn on screen and Tony’s question at the same time, wings stiffening when Princess Peach gets too close to the edge.

“You better not be trying to distract me because you’re losing, Stark,” he warns. He hears Tony gasp in mock-shock, wings jutting out a bit and one bumping into his.

“I would _never_ ,” Tony replies, mock-outraged, “But seriously,” he continues, “The twins. I’m still trying to work it out.” Tony lets out a quiet curse and angles his body the other way with the controller. “I mean, if they were computers I’d get it,” he says, a little strained, Mario veering close to an edge on the screen, “But I’m not a people person and you are, and you’re not biased like Captain Spangle.” Sam raises an eyebrow at the tv at that. “So explain it to me.”

Sam sighs but obliges, pausing the game as he thinks and they both ease up out of their tilted positions.

“Think of it like this,” he starts, turning his head to look at Tony and Tony doing the same to look back, “You’re playing a PS2, got all this awesome data saved up, right?” Tony nods. “So you’re going hard, kickin’ ass, and you just finished this really hard level, and then-” Tony’s wings still.

“ _No_ ,” he says, brows pinching.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sam replies. Tony’s expression goes anguished. “Memory card error. You lost _everything_. It’s gone and you have to start over. Same player, new game.”

“So _MDK_ is the new game and _Barnes_ is the old game,” Tony surmises. Sam’s eyebrows rise.

“Less Wesley Snipes and more Edward Scissor Hands,” Sam replies, “But yes, basically.” Tony sits back a bit while glancing up in thought, taking that in, turning back to the screen after a moment.

“Alright,” he says, “Two out of three?”

Sam snorts, unpausing the game.

“What’re you giving me if I win?” he asks. He can _just_ see Tony grinning out of the corner of his eye.

“Raincheck,” Tony replies, “But I’ll give you something.”

( _Sam wins_ ).

\--

“You’re healed up already?” she asks, running fingertips lightly over smooth metal.

“Yup,” Bucky replies, holding the- _his,_ this one’s _his,_ arm still while she feels along the barely there ridges, “‘Nother perk of the serum.” Sharon gives him a look and his wings twitch. “Just because I don’t like it doesn’t mean it’s _all_ bad,” he quips back. Her lips curve up and she pulls her hand away, bringing her mug up to take a sip of her coffee.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” she says after a minute, and he looks up from his own mug, “I haven’t talked with Steve about it yet, but…” she trails off, looking down into her tea. His wings still as he sits up, waits.

If this involves Steve, it’s probably not good. Bucky loves the guy, but anything Steve’s name is brought up in is either _drenched_ in Captain America or _Trouble_ , with a capital ‘ _T_ ’.

She looks back up after another moment.

“Did you want to visit Aunt Peggy?” she asks, and his wings go the unnatural kind of still while his brain goes silent for a minute.

“She’s alive?” he asks, wincing a little after because you _don’t_ _say that_ -

But Sharon just nods, studying him.

“I...I don’t know,” he replies honestly, looking past her and out the windows at the other end of the apartment, getting lost in thought. “I think...Steve would want to. But I’m not sure if I-” he cuts himself off, eyes darting back to hers when he feels a hand, gentle but firm on his. She smiles, something quiet and sure, and he swallows, wings twitching slightly with it.

“She’d want to see you, too,” she says softly.

Well.

\--

Bucky’s on his way to the training room where JARVIS told him Steve was when he hears Barton yell:

“ _BARNES!_ ”

His wings still and he does his best not to whip around on instinct, and slowly turns on his heel instead, raising a brow at where Clint’s standing just inside the room in front of the elevator and James is walking towards him.

“ _What_ ,” Bucky says back, glancing at James as he goes by, James glancing back with a slightly raised brow and a quirk of his lips. Bucky gives him a _dirty look_ , because he _can_ , and James’ lips just quirk up a little higher, only once darting down to Bucky’s left arm. Bucky looks back to Clint.

“You. Me. Target practice,” Clint replies, grinning, “ _You’re up_.” Bucky’s brows pull together briefly before he gets it and rolls his eyes a little, putting on a smirk.

“Yeah. Sure,” he replies, “But I need to talk with Steve first.”

“I’ll meet you there then!” Clint calls over his shoulder as he heads back into the elevator.

Bucky smiles and turns back around (and runs the last few feet to catch the elevator before James can head down without him).

“He a good shot?” Bucky asks after a minute or so of awkward silence.

James makes a considering sound.

“Yes,” he answers.

And that’s the end of their conversation.

When the elevator stops, they move to step out at the same time and both pause, glancing at each other repeatedly and then both moving _again_. Bucky darts out of the elevator at the last second before James can and quickly walks down the hall towards the training room, ears feeling a little heated.

At least no one was around to see _that._

He hears a quiet sound that sounds an _awful lot like a laugh_ and shakes his wings out, flicking one back in James’ direction (and keeps his own smile small out of James’ sight because that’s the first time Bucky’s heard him _laugh)_. They might not really get along, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want James to have good things. James, maybe the most of the two of them, _deserves_ to have good things.

Bucky slows to a stop at the training room door and stares in through the window, eyes widening a little as he watches.

He feels James come to a stop next to him, too, wings just barely brushing.

Steve cuts Natasha off in the air and she arches down, quick and sharp and bright like fire, and Steve follows her, keeping her on the defensive until she drops to the ground and launches herself back up in quick succession, turning the tables and aiming straight for _Steve_.

Steve twists to the side, just barely missing her, and drops to the floor himself, twisting again and bracing an arm up to block Natasha’s foot, her wings folded in and gravity and velocity slamming her _down_ into him.

But he holds and throws her back with that same arm and she spreads her wings, sharp and violent and red under the lights, and then slowly lowers herself to the floor with a nod towards the door. Steve turns to look, eyes finding him and James, both Steve and Natasha covered in a light sweat, and Steve slowly eases up out of his position, whipping back around and blocking Natasha’s punch with the same arm, laughing while she smirks at him.

They both ease out of their positions again and she throws a wing over his head, ruffling his hair as she goes by while he ducks with another laugh, pushing her wing off with one of his own, black on red.

Bucky’s never seen her so playful before.

Or Steve fight like _that_.

James pushes the door open and Bucky snaps out of his daze, following him inside.

James glances at him and then Steve before saying something to Natasha in Russian, must pick up that Bucky wants to talk to Steve alone. Natasha raises an eyebrow and replies in kind and Bucky ignores it, heading over to Steve.

“That was cool,” Bucky says, and Steve raises a brow.

“‘Cool’?” he asks with a teasing grin. Bucky scoffs, batting at him with a wing. Steve blocks it with his own, grin widening.

“I can be a ‘ _cool kid’_ , _Rogers_ ,” Bucky replies. Steve snorts.

“Clint?” he asks.

“Clint,” Bucky sighs in agreement, sharing a grin with Steve. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he says after a moment, more serious. Steve’s expression sobers a bit and he glances over towards the door. Bucky looks, too, finds James and Natasha talking over by the far wall.

“Private?” Steve asks, looking back to him. Bucky shakes his head, then pauses and shrugs his wings.

“Yes and no,” he replies. Steve makes a face and Bucky just decides to go for it. “Sharon asked me if I wanted to go see Peggy.” Steve’s wings and feathers flare out a little in surprise but his face remains the same, which means he _knows_ about Peggy, at least. “She wanted to ask you too, but things were…” Bucky shrugs a wing and Steve glances down in thought.

Steve’s mouth opens and closes once, twice, and Bucky reaches a wing over to nudge one of Steve’s gently, Steve’s eyes darting back up to him.

“You don’t have to,” Bucky says softly. Steve’s mouth pinches a little before he asks what Bucky _knew_ he would-

“Are you going?”

Bucky shrugs his wings again, a little less this time, and looks towards the windows past Steve, out at the city. “Thinking about it,” he says, drawing his eyes back to Steve after a moment, “She’d _want_ to see us, wouldn’t she?” He doesn’t need to say the other reason, if Steve’s pained expression is anything to go by.

Peggy’s older now, much older, and they don’t know _how_ long she’s got left. To not see her now? Bucky’s not sure about himself, not completely, but he knows _Steve_ would regret it for the rest of his own days.

“Yeah,” Steve says, quiet, eyes dropping back to the floor again for a minute before he takes a breath and lifts his head, nodding, “Yeah,” he says more firmly.

“Alright,” Bucky nods back, “I’ll schedule it with Sharon?”

Steve nods again and Bucky nods back too before turning for the door.

“And Buck?” Steve calls out. Bucky turns back around.

Steve smiles, small and a little careful. “I like it,” he says.

Bucky blinks, glances to it as he raises his left fist, metal gleaming smooth and reflecting the light a bit. He lowers it again and quirks a smile back at Steve. “I like it, too,” he replies, and finds that he _does._ And it’s _his._

Steve’s smile grows and Bucky turns back around.

“James!” Bucky calls over, and James turns his head to look at him, “You know what arm wrestling is?”

Steve snorts and Natasha grins past Bucky’s shoulder, sharp and victorious.

\--

With Stark’s jet, it only takes them a few hours to get there.

Steve’s both glad and feels like his heart is hollowing out in ways he can’t find words for, filling with fear and anxiety all at once, making it a heavy, rabbit paced, frail of a thing in his chest, each _thud-thud, thud-thud_ like a drop of rain and a block of cement all at the same time.

A hand squeezes his and Steve blinks, looks up to find James still sitting next to him, looking at Steve in that quiet way of his. Steve looks to the left after a moment and realizes that they’ve landed.

His legs feel like they’ll wobble when he stands, but they stay steady, and he falls into mission calm.

It helps.

-

When they get there, after a car ride through winding roads and a small, nice town, they pull up at a large place in Merryweather Winchester.

Steve stares up at the house like a battle, the windows like a sniper’s scope all aimed down at him and the door like the mouth a beast waiting to open up and swallowing him whole, and his mission calm starts to crack. He looks over at Bucky sitting across from him with Sharon, all gold and soft blues at his side. Bucky looks back, eyes as conflicted as Steve feels, and Steve squeezes James’ hand, lets James’ wing brushing his own steady him a little more before Sharon opens the door and they all start getting out.

She leads them inside, and a woman dressed in something akin to white scrubs meets them in the entryway with a polite smile.

“Ms. Carter,” she greets, and Sharon smiles something familiar and at ease. James stays tense behind him.

“Rose,” Sharon returns, wings shifting a little, “How is she today?”

Rose smiles, mahogany wings shuffling a little bit behind her. “She’s good,” she replies, “And expecting company,” she glances a little meaningfully in their direction. Sharon laughs a little and nods, gesturing for them to follow her down the long, wide hall while Rose parts off through another entryway, disappearing around a corner into something that looks like an old, 40’s styled sitting room.

Steve swallows and looks forward again.

They turn a corner and head down another hall, Sharon stopping a few feet away from a half open door and turning to them.

“Do you want to go in first?” she asks, and Steve swallows again, glances at Bucky and sees him still and hesitant, maybe as nervous as _he_ is. Bucky looks back at him and opens his mouth to say something and then they hear-

“ _Well?_ ” and all freeze, save for Sharon, “ _Are you going to stand out there all day, or come in here and say ‘hello’?_ ”

Steve’s wings give a twitch and he cracks a small, shaky smile, because he can hear the age in her voice, all the years she lived without him, and at the same time, how she used to sound to him all at once.

Steve takes a breath and steels himself, then walks the rest of the way to the door, Sharon stepping aside for him, and rounds the doorway into the room.

She’s laying in a bed, not quite extravagant and not simple, either, hair grayed and a gradient down to something closer to dark steel at the bottom, wings similar but with all the brown tones they once had, faded with age. Her skin is wrinkled, bones thinner than he remembers, but her eyes-

Her eyes are still the same, bright and full of fire and fight, _alive_.

She raises an eyebrow at him, even though her eyes are starting to look a little wet.

“You’re late,” she says, almost prim, and Steve chokes out a surprised laugh, rubbing at his eyes with a few fingers before moving further into the room, stopping next to the bed and taking a seat in the chair sitting there. Probably Sharon’s, or Rose’s. He has a moment feeling like James, uncertain and unsure and hesitant about something so fragile, like her and what’s between them, before she says, “What took you so long?” He cracks a little further, _deeper_ , but warmth floods out with it and it’s-...

It’s not all bad.

“Sorry,” he says, quiet, and takes her hand when she offers it to him, holding the delicate bones firm in his hand, knows she won’t take anything less, “I got caught in a bit of a snow storm,” he tries joking back. She cracks a watery smile, tears on the verge of falling over.

“I’m glad you’re finally out of it, then,” she replies, soft and just as quiet, and he can’t help smiling at that.

They look at each other for a long minute before he hears footsteps and her eyes drag back over to the door, raising an eyebrow again.

“Barnes,” she greets. Steve hears Bucky suck in a breath, wants to look but can’t take his eyes off of her, cataloguing all the changes and things that remained the same from everything he can see; can’t help it.

“Sorry I’m late,” Bucky replies, voice a little scratchy. He clears it quietly. “That snow storm caught me first,” he tries to joke, too. Peggy makes a considering hum, and Steve looks up from the photographs he’s found on her bedside table his eyes were glued to when he sees white wings shift in his periphery.

Bucky’s standing on the other side of her bed, wings shifting slightly, uncertain, like he’s hanging on the edge of her approval. Peggy smiles again and Bucky’s shoulders relax a little, wings sagging slightly at his back.

She offers Bucky her other hand and Bucky takes it with his right. She arches an eyebrow again and he ducks his head slightly, switching it to his left. She smiles again.

“I’m glad you found your way back, too,” she says gently. Bucky’s head ducks a little further before he lifts it, meets her eyes.

“I am, too,” he says, voice raw and honest in a way Steve doesn’t often hear, not outside of when they’re alone, “But I had some help,” he adds after a moment, glancing at Steve. Steve glances towards the door and back, nodding slightly with a slightly raised wing. They haven’t really talked about it, but-

Bucky gives Peggy’s hand a gentle squeeze, who watches them both curiously, before letting it go and walking back towards the doorway, leaning around it and saying something quietly that Steve tries not to hear but can’t help it-

“ _You comin’ in, or what?_ ”

Silence.

Metal whirring quietly.

“ _I am...too loud for this place_.”

Steve’s heart clenches a little, looking back at Peggy when he catches her looking at him with an inquisitive brow. He smiles a little, then hears-

“ _You won’t break anything_.”

Silence.

And it still surprises Steve, how Bucky and James navigate each other in half coded words and subtle gestures, sometimes like they’re still sharing headspace and a body.

“ _She is important. Fragile. I do not want violence to touch her_.”

Bucky snorts quietly.

“ _She’s tougher than she looks, and I know you’ll be careful. You are with Steve._ ”

Steve’s heart beats a little faster at that.

Silence.

A breath.

“ _You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but if you’re only staying out here because you think **violence** hasn’t touched **Peggy Carter** , or because you feel like you don’t belong, then you could come in_.” Worded carefully and set like an option, rather than a demand.

Bucky pulls back from the doorway and walks back over to the side of Peggy’s bed. She raises both her eyebrows at him this time and he shrugs his wings a little, head turning and eyes darting back to the door when James takes a slow step in. Peggy’s eyes widen a bit for a moment after they follow.

“Oh,” she says, like she can’t think of anything else, and because Peggy is still poise and grace and _kind_ , when she _can_ , she just says: “Hello, there. Would you like to come in?”

James hesitates for half a second before stepping fully into the room, Sharon behind him, and then stops a few feet away from the end of her bed, looking a little unsure of what to do with himself, wings still.

Peggy pulls up another smile.

“May I ask your name?” she asks, polite and gentle all at once, and Steve could fall in love with her all over again, just for that.

“James,” James answers, and her smiles grows a little more.

“Hello, James,” she greets, “My name is Peggy Carter, but you can just call me Peggy.”

James nods slightly after a moment, otherwise completely still, and then after a minute of staring at her and glancing around the room, lightning quick like he’s searching for threats (though for against him, or them, or from her, Steve’s not sure, but he likes to think it’s the second one), he slowly walks over and stops next to Steve, the ends of their wings brushing just a little down by the floor.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Peggy,” he replies, a little stilted, like he’s practiced saying it and isn’t entirely sure he’s doing it right.

But when Peggy smiles and says, “It’s nice to meet you, too,” a fraction of the tension in his shoulders and his wings eases away, and Steve smiles.

\--

When they get back to the Tower, Steve closes the door of their floor behind them with a quiet breath, leaning back against it and staring down at the floor as he tries to think and tries _not_ to think, past and present trying to reconcile in his head all the differences, everything that’s still the _same_ but so much _not_.

He looks up when toes peek into his periphery to find James looking at him, soft and quiet. Steve reaches forward and grabs his hips gently, tugging slightly.

James walks forward and cages him in with arms and legs and wings, fingers threading back through Steve’s hair and pushing it out of his eyes. Steve lets them fall closed. He needs to cut it, trim it, at least, it’s been a month. He feels gentle lips on his forehead after another moment and opens his eyes again, looking up at him.

“Is it ever strange?” Steve asks, almost a whisper. James tilts his head slightly and raises a wing a little in question. “To feel like you have two places in time colliding in your head,” Steve continues, voice sounding fragile to his own ears, almost a little hollow, “Like it all makes sense, but it doesn’t.”

James studies him for a long moment.

“Yes, and no,” he replies quietly, rubbing a thumb gently over Steve’s cheek as he speaks, “The only ground that mattered was the mission. That was all I needed to know, even if, sometimes…” he trails off, eyes still focused on Steve’s, not distant or lost in the past in any way. He just stops. Steve wants to ask, but now doesn’t feel like the time. “My only constants were my missions, my orders, and the ice,” James continues, and Steve’s heart clenches again, “And now it is you,” he finishes, and Steve’s wings still, focusing more intently on James.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Steve says, quiet, almost a whisper, “You shouldn’t base your life around one person.” James tilts his head slightly, a wing twitching up fractionally.

“Why?” he asks.

Steve swallows.

“What if something happens to me?” he asks, standing up a little straighter. James’ thumb keeps rubbing along his cheek, metal soft and smooth and repetitive. “What if I die? What then?” And he’s afraid of the answer, almost doesn’t want to know because he doesn’t want to _think about-_

“I will kill whoever is responsible,” James replies without hesitation, calm and certain. Steve tries to breathe. It’s hard, when someone says something like that so naturally, would do something like that _for him_. “And then…” James trails off, eyes dropping a little in thought. He closes his mouth for a moment, brows drawing together a little while his thumb stills on Steve’s cheek. “I do not think I would want to keep living,” he says, quieter, softer, like a rare confession, and Steve’s heart wedges somewhere up into his throat.

“But would you?” Steve asks in a whisper. James looks back up at him.

There’s something so sad in his eyes, something so _deep_ Steve doesn’t think he can completely fathom it, like what Steve wants from him is _painful_ , like _living_ is _painful_.

Steve understands that much.

And then James is leaning forward and kissing him, light and soft and gentle, and it almost _hurts_ , feels like _pain_ , aches so far down into whatever he is now, and whatever they are _together_.

James pulls back and just looks at him, and Steve’s eyes are stinging because he _knows,_ Steve knows the answer whether he really wants to or not.

Steve lifts his hands from James’ hips, slowly moves them up and cups James’ face gently, cradles it like it’s the most important thing, and kisses him, light and gentle and then gradually firm and sound, _desperate_ , and James returns each one, angles his head and makes it _deeper_ , pressing Steve flat to the door with a hand braced on the shiny surface, licking into Steve’s mouth like it’s everything, like it’s all that matters.

James breaks the kiss after minutes of them diving and delving into each other, getting lost in all the spaces they make together, to say, quietly, “I want to feel you in me.” Steve opens his eyes to look at him, breaths puffing against each other’s faces.

He doesn’t ask if James means it, because James never says anything he doesn’t mean, just nods his head and lets James take his hand and lead him down the hall, into their bedroom.

He doesn’t think about Bucky, or Peggy, or Sharon, or his unease within himself.

Just thinks about James and _knows_.

Knows that James would live, but that he wouldn’t want to, lets that weight take home in his heart.

( _Because Steve understands **that,** **too**_ ).

\--

“ _Steve, James_.”

Steve’s eyes crack open a few days later. “JARVIS?” he asks, voice groggy. The arm around his chest grips him a little tighter.

“ _Mr. Stark has something to discuss with you_ ,” JARVIS replies. Steve rubs his face with a hand.

“Voice only?” Steve asks, turning his head to push his nose into James’ hair and against his forehead. James’ wing curls a little more around them.

“ _As you wish_ ,” JARVIS replies, and then Tony’s saying:

“ _Ooo, no video. Did I **interrupt something?**_ ” voice full of _leer_ and _glee_. Steve rolls his eyes a little behind his closed eyelids.

“What is it, Stark?” he asks, cutting to the chase. Stark _sighs_.

“ _You’re no fun_ ,” he replies, “ _Anyway, I’ve been keeping track of those Hydra bases you put that map together for before the Tower got attacked and we were trying to get the jump on Lukin_.” Steve frowns.

“And?” he asks, a small, sinking feeling forming in his gut.

“ _ **Aaaand**_ ,” Stark draws out, James huffs a soft breath against Steve’s neck, pushing himself a little closer. “ _One of the bases is lighting up like a hotspot, or close to. We’re sending in a team to take it off the map before it gets too out of hand. Maybe do the same with the others after, but this one’s more pressing right now. You in?_ ”

Steve opens his mouth to reply then pauses, suddenly acutely aware of James pressed all along his side, one arm around his chest and a leg hooked around one of Steve’s, dark wing thrown over them both like a blanket. Their conversation from earlier. Steve’s not one to let fear hold him back, but it’s not _just_ fear that’s doing it, not exactly.

“Do you want to?” he asks, voice soft and quiet. James shifts his head to look up at him and Steve moves his own to look back. James glances up towards the ceiling briefly and Steve says, “JARVIS, mute please.”

“ _Done, Steve_ ,” JARVIS replies.

“Thank you,” he says, focusing back on and eyes still on James’, “What do you want to do?” Because Hydra isn’t just Steve’s battle, it’s James’, too.

James looks at him for a long minute before leaning forward to press their foreheads together, eyes closing halfway. “Stay here,” he replies, almost a whisper, and Steve still wants to go, _really does_ , _but-_

“JARVIS,” Steve says, softer, trying to ignore the slow sweep of anxiety in his chest from missing a battle that’s his, that he might be needed on, “Can you tell Tony I’ll go with him on the ones after this one?” Because he still wants to burn them to the ground, and he will, every single one of them.

But James needs him too, and James needs something other than Hydra consuming his life.

And maybe Steve does, too. He won’t drop it, won’t let it go, not until it’s done, but…

Maybe Steve can take a break, sometimes.

“ _Yes, Steve_ ,” JARVIS replies, and even _his_ voice sounds a little softer.

Steve lets his eyes slip closed with James’, overlapping James’ wing with his own and pulling him closer while James shifts as close as he can get.

\--

“Steve’s not coming?” Bucky asks, sitting up while his wings and feathers flare out a bit, because that’s-

“He put me on _mute_ and then had _JARVIS_ tell me he was _staying **in**_ ,” Tony says from by the entryway, arms crossed and wings shifting, “I can’t believe _Captain America_ is taking _time off_. From _**Hydra**_ ,” he adds, mouth twisting like he can’t decide if he wants to grin or be disgruntled. Bucky snorts, but he’s pretty sure James had something to do with it, and honestly he’s...

He’s _relieved_ , that Steve has something, some _one_ in his life that can finally pull him back from battle where Bucky and Peggy couldn’t. Finally. Someone to make him take a damn _break_ from the fighting.

“Disappointed?” Natasha asks, passing him while sliding a gun into her thigh holster, but he catches a small smirk on her lips and knows she _knows_ he isn’t.

“Nope,” he replies anyway, and leaves it at that, adjusting the straps of his uniform as he stands up. “You made this the first week we were here, didn’t you,” he says not asks, raising an eyebrow at Stark.

Stark finally picks an expression and _grins_.

\--

“Alright,” Wilson says, voice coming loud and clear through the comms as he stands and takes point at the quinjet hatch. They all turn their heads to look even though they can’t see much beyond his eyes under the breather mask.

“We’re going in H.A.L.O. style, like we practiced: high drop, low altitude,” he continues, “The Hydra base has some impressive early warning systems set up at this particular base. Stark’s still not sure why they’re so set on protecting it, and James doesn’t know, either.” Bucky nods slightly, because even _he’s_ not sure. He can’t remember- “But this is the best way to get in undetected,” Sam adds, wings shifting just slightly under the wing covers. “I’ll be half acting as field paramedic, keep an eye on things during the fight.” Wilson nods to Bucky, Natasha, and Clint. “For those of you who’ve never done this before, you’ve been drilled on it. You good to go?” he asks, double checks.

Bucky nods and just catches Natasha and Clint doing the same, and Sam nods back.

“Alright then,” Sam says, and they all get up and into position, Barton hitting the button for the hatch. “On three,” Sam says, calm and steady in their ears while the hatch slides open and freezing wind whips through. Bucky can’t feel it under the suit and wing cover’s protection, thankfully. “One. Two. Three-”

They all run out the back and let themselves freefall over the edge of the hatch, stars falling up past them rapidly and dark gray of clouds below, their wings pulled in tight to their backs as the wind whips at their goggles and head coverings, arms and legs spread out. Sam’s ankle flare is bright in the night below Bucky like a falling star and guiding light, and Bucky stays on course with it like a beacon, following it _down,_ past the sea of stars that Natasha and Clint’s bright flares look like they’re falling out of and down into the foggy depths below.

For a minute, it feels like he’s floating, heart not lurching - quelled from practice - and no ice and snow, no wind on his hands and face and freezing metal under his hands to send him back to a train in time.

They fall through the clouds like a foggy day in France a few and too many years ago, and once they breach the cloud layer, Bucky pulls the cord on his wing cover that lets the material loose and _zip_ off with the wind, wings snapping out to catch the draft. Natasha and Clint quickly follow suit, all slowing their descent like angels descending _down_.

 _Into Hell_ , Bucky thinks, because that’s what Hydra _is_.

Sam’s the last to pull his cord, and the cover briefly goes loose like it should before _whipping_ down and around, getting twisted and tangled in gunmetal gray before going taut. And before Bucky knows what he’s doing, he’s pulling his wings back in and diving _down_ , Sam’s strangled cry in his ears while blood flecks across his goggles-

\--

“.. _-ve_.”

Fire.

“... _-teve_.”

“ _ **Captain**._ ”

Fire everywhere.

“.. _.-Steve_.”

“ _ **Captain**_ ,” _a **smirk**_.

It’s too hot.

“ _Steve_.”

He jolts a little and blinks rapidly a few times, finds himself staring at a wall. Wasn’t he just with _James?_ -

“ _Steve._ ”

He blinks again, glancing up towards the ceiling.

“Yes?” he asks, a weight in his stomach.

A pause.

The weight gets heavier.

“ _I’m afraid something went wrong on the mission_ ,” JARVIS replies.

Dread curls tight.

“What happened?” Steve asks, swallowing.

“ _Sam’s wings_ -”

Steve’s eyes widen.


	32. The bed's getting cold and you're not here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLESS KAY FOR BETAING FOR MEEEE. <3333333

Steve runs for the elevator, heart in his throat, and taps his foot impatiently the whole way down to the med floor, wings twitching in a staccato of anxiety and worry.

As soon as the doors open, he takes off at a sprint, just in time to see Bucky and a couple of Stark Industry’s employees wheeling Sam into the room. Steve skids to a brief stop, wide eyes quickly taking in the sight of mutilation and bone and _red red red_ -

He starts running again, skidding to another stop in the doorway. “What happened?” he demands.

“Wing covers didn’t open right,” Bucky replies, backing up quickly and the employees retreating when the doctors and nurses take over, wheeling Sam further into the room.

“Nat and Clint?” Steve asks next.

“Still on mission,” Bucky replies, and _that_ gets Steve to drag his eyes away from Sam.

“By _themselves?_ ” he demands, wings tensing. Bucky shakes his head while his own wings give a slight twitch, turning his head to look back.

“Stark sent Thor,” he replies, “They’re covered. Someone needed to-” he swallows, looks back into the room, “Someone needed to stay with Sam. I was closest. I caught him before we hit the trees, but not quick enough to-” Bucky stops again, mouth flattening into a thin line. “I couldn’t catch him in time,” he says quietly, and Steve’s wings go still, “The covers were wrapped tight around his wings, tore into them, but they caught the tree branches-” Bucky cuts himself off again, fists clenching. Steve swallows.

He doesn’t need to say anything more.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Steve forces himself to say, even though it’s hypocritical. It doesn’t matter if it really is or not, they both feel that guilt anyway, being responsible for things out of their control.

It’s irrational, but they’re human.

Bucky shakes his head like Steve knew he would while he stares into the room, jaw clenching.

A screen materializes to their right a moment later with JARVIS saying, “ _Mr. Stark would like a word_ ,” and then Tony’s face flickers to life on it, grim and angry.

“ _I’ve started looking over the tangled equipment myself_ ,” he says before either of them can say anything, “ _How’s Wilson?_ ” Steve’s fists clench a little, heart feeling like it’s doing the same in his chest.

“Not good,” he manages to get out, looking at Tony.

Tony’s expression goes more grim and he nods, eyes dropping down before the feed cuts out. Steve stays with Bucky, staring into the med lab for a few more minutes before he turns with another look at Bucky and a hand on his shoulder, and heads back for the elevator.

Steve doesn’t have to ask JARVIS to know that Bucky stands there for a while.

-

When he gets to his and James’ floor, he steps out, James appearing out of the hall a few moments later. He stops in front of Steve and studies him, wings shifting slightly.

“What happened,” he says more than asks, and Steve takes a breath.

“Sam was injured on the mission,” he says first, burying his other concern for now ( _like why was he staring at a wall_ -), “His wings-” Steve cuts himself off, mouth flattening into a hard line and wings tensing. James studies him again.

“How bad?” he asks, just a little softer.

 _A flash of bone and blood and open space where there should be_ -

Steve lets out a breath.

“Gone,” he makes himself say. James eyes widen fractionally, wings going unnaturally still before relaxing a little again, nodding slightly.

James takes his hand after a moment and pulls, just a little, just a suggestion, and Steve lets himself be moved, lets James wings envelop him and close off the world for a few minutes.

\--

They wait, and wait, but there’s still nothing else from Tony, or the med lab or Nat, Clint, and Thor on the mission.

It’s just the sound of him and James breathing in their apartment, the only thing breaking up the overwhelming silence into rhythmic fragments and the swirling thoughts in Steve’s head to disrupted ripples.

All Steve really knows for sure is that Sam will never have his wings back, and he’s going to need someone (or someone _s_ ) to be there for him.

\--

“ _I’ve got JARVIS running a scan on all of the equipment now_ ,” Tony reports hours later, “ _Triple checking._ _Romanoff, Barton, and Thor found out why that base was such a hotzone._ ” Steve’s wings tense and rise a little and he waits, chin resting on the top of James’ head. “ _They were keeping the scepter there_ ,” Tony continues, and Steve’s wings stiffen further. Tony nods with a dark smile. “ _Yeah, that one_ ,” he says, “ _It’s likely that Hydra’s tentacles went deeper into S.H.I.E.L.D. than we thought and they got a hold of it from where it was being contained. If it even made it to containment at **all**_ ,” Tony adds the last in a dark mutter before looking back up at Steve, “ _Romanoff and Barton are putting it in containment **here** down in the vault while Thor supervises. Doesn’t exactly make any of us **comfortable** having it here, but we’ll have to figure out what to do with it later_.” Steve takes a quiet, steadying breath.

“Understood,” he responds, because it feels like he can’t escape it and he-

It feels like something _twists_ in his _head_ -

“ _I’ll let you know if I find anything more out about Wilson’s equipment_ ,” Tony says, pulling Steve out of his thoughts.

“Understood,” he repeats, “Anything new on Sam?”

Tony shakes his head with a pinched expression and then the screen goes blank, dematerializing. James tilts his head back and Steve lifts his chin up off the top of it to look down at him.

“The scepter from the invasion,” James says quietly. Steve nods.

“You know of it?” he asks, just as quiet.

James’ eyes go distant while he stares ahead.

“Lukin wanted it,” he finally replies, “I don’t know why.”

“Power, probably,” Steve says after a moment, finishing resignedly, “So many people want power.” James is quiet for a minute, the silence thoughtful.

“Not you?” he asks, looking back up at Steve. Steve looks back down at him.

“I have the power I need already,” he replies softly, “In my friends, and in myself.”

“And me?” James asks, quieter, after a moment. Steve smiles, soft and quiet, and lowers his head just enough to rest his lips gently on James’ forehead.

“ _Especially you_ ,” Steve whispers, curling his wings in tighter around them both.

James fingers give his arm a gentle squeeze and Steve hears him blow out a breath that sounds almost relieved.

\--

_Fire again._

_A **laugh**._

_Steve spins around, blocking his face with an arm, but he can’t see anything but flames. **Where** is it coming from?_

_“Can’t find me?” the voice asks, a smile in it, but there’s nothing kind about it. It’s coming from **all over**._

_“I’m dreaming,” Steve says, because he **knows** he is._

_“Are you?” It asked him that last time._

_“ **I am** ,” Steve replies firmly._

_The flames jump higher-_

Steve jolts straight up in bed with a _gasp_ , wings flared, sucking in deep gulps of air like he hasn’t been able to in _years_ instead of-

His eyes frantically find a clock.

 _Three **hours**_.

He slumps forward, rubbing his sweaty face with both hands and then pushing his fingers back into his hair, shoving his damp bangs out of his face and trying to _breathe_. “Sorry,” he says between breaths, becoming aware of the eyes on him. Steve makes himself sit up, dropping his hands into his lap as he looks over.

James stares back, then shifts closer after a moment.

He straddles Steve’s lap and Steve shifts a little to let him, resting his hands on James’ hips and looking up at him. James brushes Steve’s bangs aside again when they fall over his eyes and rests cool metal across his forehead. Steve closes his eyes, wings relaxing, then forces his eyes open again when all he sees is _red_ -

“Do you want to talk?” James asks quietly. Steve’s lips pinch. He stares up at James for another minute.

“Fire,” he replies, quieter, like if he says it too loud the _room_ will go up in flames, “Everywhere. A voice.” James tilts his head a little and raises a wing slightly and Steve blows out a breath, shrugging his own a little. “I don’t know.”

“What does it say?” James asks. Steve’s brows draw together while he tries to remember. He shakes his head a little after a moment, leaning forward to press his forehead to James’ sternum.

“Just taunts me,” Steve replies quietly. He feels James slide his fingers back through his hair and Steve shudders a little, lets it ripple out through his wings while he wraps his arms around James, holding him close. He can’t put his finger on it, but there’s something about the voice…

Steve shakes his head a little, holding onto James tighter.

It’s just a dream.

Isn’t it?

\--

Steve heads back to the med floor as soon as reasonably possible later in the day, after the sun’s come up. James’ steps are silent behind him and Steve walks further in until he finally finds Sam towards the back by a set of windows. He’s laying on his stomach on a white bed, bandages wrapped heavily around his chest and back, and his wings-

His wings gone.

The doctor Steve ran into said Sam’s in an induced coma, at least until he heals enough to not pull any of the apparently delicate and extensive sutures beneath the bandages. They told him-

“How is he?”

Steve turns, watches Bucky walk over and slow to a stop few feet away from the end of the bed and stare at Sam, eyes still as full of guilt as they were yesterday and wings still. Steve looks past him at Sharon back by the door on the opposite side of James, one arm across her waist to the grip the other with her wings lowered a little.

“They’re keeping him sedated until everything heals enough that he won’t risk pulling out the small stitches,” Steve replies, keeping his voice down because raising it any feels wrong, somehow. “They couldn’t save his wings,” he says, softer, heart clenching, “But physically, he’ll be fine.”

Steve watches Bucky swallow with a small nod, still staring down at Sam like-

Like Bucky sometimes looked at _him_ when _he_ was sick, when he thought Steve wasn’t looking.

Like he was responsible for every time Steve coughed.

“He’ll be okay, Buck,” Steve says, because he has to. Sam’s been a good friend, there to help them when they needed it, and now it’s their turn.

Bucky just stares down at Sam, and Steve stays with them both for a while, Sharon and James standing guard at the door like sentinels.

\--

“JARVIS, have you seen James?” Steve asks later, looking up at the ceiling.

“ _He is currently in the first floor daycare_ ,” JARVIS replies, “ _And there appears to be a...puppy_.”

Steve blinks, raising his wings a little. “ _A puppy?_ ” he asks.

“ _Yes, Steve_ ,” JARVIS replies, “ _Would you like me to pull up the security footage?_ ”

“No,” Steve answers, lips twitching up a little before he heads for the elevator, “I think I’ll go look for myself.”

-

When Steve rounds the last corner and stops at the half-door halfway down the hall and looks in, there is, in fact, a puppy.

If you could call it that.

It’s a small, energetic, gold thing with four short legs that looks to be made of _at least_ seventy percent, fluffy fur, and it’s chasing around some of the children while they squeal, the children’s wings fluttering in delight.

And James is standing in the middle of it all, wings raised enough from the ground to keep them out of the frolicking puppy’s reach, chasing three children around with its tongue lolling out while the other five are clamoring for James’ attention, clinging to his legs with him looking like he’s not entirely sure what he’s gotten himself into. The two daycare employees are watching from either side of the room, one covering her mouth and wings shaking like she’s trying very hard not to laugh.

Steve’s lips pull up into a smile and it feels like it’s the first one in _days_.

James spots him quickly.

“Steve,” he says, and Steve smiles a little more.

“Need help?” he asks. James glances down at the puppy and follows it with his eyes, and Steve notices he glances to each of the children, too, tracking and scanning over them quickly. Steve smiles a little more.

“Yes?” James replies, uncertain, looking back up at Steve while his wings give a slight twitch. Steve nods and opens the lower half of the door when the puppy is on the far side of the room and steps inside. It notices him quick, too, and starts barreling straight for him and into his ankles while he walks over, and he lifts his wings up like James to avoid them getting torn to shreds.

“Mr. James Mr. James,” one of the kids says, and they both look down, “ _Up_ ,” three of them say almost at once. James crouches down a little with his left arm held out and Steve blinks.

James stands back up straight once they’ve all latched onto it, slowly lifting them off of the ground while three of them giggle and their wings flutter, swinging a little. The other two hop up and down, excited for their turns while the others play with the puppy by Steve’s feet.

“‘Mr. James’?” Steve asks. James glances at him almost shyly. “You come here often,” Steve says more than asks, something niggling at him.

But then James looks back down at the children and his lips pull up into a small smile, even while one of his wings bats away from another child trying to pull at his feathers, batting him away like a lion to a cub, and Steve lets the niggling go for now, smiling again.

“The kids love him,” one of the daycare employees speaks up while they start tidying up the room, corralling the puppy away from Steve’s pant legs and into a pet carrier.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Steve replies, softer, and James looks up at him again before slowly lowering the kids back to the floor, lifting the last two up.

After a bit, when the children start to tire and their parents start to come and they’ve colored in coloring books, played tag (that James and him both slow themselves down _drastically_ for), they start heading back down the hall, James nodding to the parents that greet him and Steve with soft smiles. That niggling comes back again.

“When have you been spending all this time down here?” Steve asks, looking over at him as they step into the elevator. James looks back, studying him for a moment.

“When I have time,” is all he replies, but Steve feels like he’s missing something.

\--

“ _Captain._ ”

That voice again.

“ _Captain_.”

Fire.

“ _Captain_.”

Red.

He keeps walking, follows the footsteps in fire on the floor, lighting up the large, dark hall in a soft glow, orange light reflecting off of the glass showing off New York’s night lights.

He reaches a door.

He stops.

“ _ **Captain**_.”

It echoes.

He opens the door and walks.

“ _ **Captain**_ -”

“Steve.”

He blinks, turns his head.

“James?” he asks, wings flaring a little.

“Rogers,” Tony says, stepping out from the shadows next to James on the other side of the room.

Steve blinks.

“I don’t-”

“You need to put the scepter down,” Tony says firmly. Steve’s brows draw together and he looks down-

The scepter’s in his hand, giving off a soft blue glow in the mostly dark room, a few soft, slim lights spread evenly in the curved walls of the room. Steve’s eyes widen, and he looks over his shoulder at the open vault, looks back over at James and Tony.

“I can’t,” Steve replies. Tony’s wings tense.

“Rogers-” he starts.

“I mean _I can’t_ ,” Steve repeats, something spreading almost like a numb _fire_ up his right arm-

James’ wings tense now.

“Put me on lockdown,” Steve orders. Tony’s expression pinches and James watches him.

“ _Put me on lockdown **now**_.”

\--

“And we’re _sure_ it’s not PTSD?” Bruce asks.

Tony up looks at him.

“The guy’s been through a lot,” Bruce supplies, looking back.

James stands in front of the viewing window, completely still.

Tony looks away.

“It’s not,” Bucky cuts in as he walks into the room, pausing for a moment before heading over to the window. Tony and Bruce both look, Sharon coming to a stop next to Tony.

Bucky looks to James who nods slightly.

They all look into the containment room.

“It’s something else,” Tony concludes.

James says, quietly, “Some _one_ else.”

Bucky’s eyes dart back to him.

Inside the room, Steve stops slowly pacing and turns to face them like he can _see_ them, lifting his head up to smile-

“It’s not Steve,” James says more firmly, but still quiet.

He’s right.

Steve doesn’t smile like that.

Like he wants to reach into your chest and pull your arc reactor out, nice and slow.

Whoever it is, it’s not Steve.

Not anymore.


	33. See who I am, break through the surface, reach for my hand

Tony flicks on the switch.

“So,” he starts, “Who are you? And how’d you get in Steve Rogers.” Tony quirks a brow, flicking a wing. “Never thought I’d say _that_ about Steve _to_ Steve,” he adds musingly, ignoring the looks sent his way by Barnes _and_ Other Barnes, “Well. _Not_ -Steve. So. What do we call you?”

Not-Steve just smiles at the viewing window, still looking for all the world like he can see them when it’s not possible to.

“ _You don’t know?_ ” Not-Steve asks with a-

“German accent,” Tony notes, eyes flashing to Bucky when his wings stiffen so fast it almost gives Tony whiplash, “That narrows things down.” Not-Steve hums a reply, folding his hands behind his back and glancing around the containment room. Bucky’s wings flare a little from stiffening so much.

Tony glances at him again before focusing back on the view of the room.

“Not going to answer?” he asks. Not-Steve slowly shifts his eyes back to them.

“ _I do not have to_ ,” he replies, lips pulling up a little in a way like and _unlike_ Steve, “ _Sergeant Barnes already knows the answer_.”

“Red Skull,” Bucky says immediately, and everyone’s eyes flash to him.

Red Skull’s smile widens and Tony flips off the intercom.

“Red Skull?” Bruce asks, wings shifting a little, “But how?” he looks to Tony.

“When did he have the opportunity to get _in_ Steve?” Sharon asks, arms crossed and wings giving a twitch.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“‘Aurora’,” James answers quietly, dragging all of their attentions to him, but he keeps his eyes on the room, on Steve.

“That son of a bitch,” Tony says as realization dawns. He flips the switch again. “Lukin gave you access with the code word.”

Red Skull smiles again.

It’s unsettling, seeing Steve’s _face_ smile like that.

“ _He opened the door_ ,” Red Skull allows, nodding, “ _But it was your dear **Captain** who let me in_.” Tony’s brow furrows, because Steve wouldn’t-

“ _What did you do_ ,” Bucky demands. Red Skull _tilts_ his head a little, glancing to the side like he’s thinking, wings still at his back.

“ _As soon as **Captain Rogers** returned my call, he was as good as an open book to me_ ,” Red Skull replies, shifting his eyes back to them.

“Taunt,” James supplies quietly, and Red Skull inclines his head a little.

“ _Perceptive_ ,” he replies, eyes zeroing in, just a little _off_ from where James is standing. He smirks a little. “ _And if you’re wondering, I was not present for your... **affections**_ ,” he says with a small look of disgust, raising a brow. Bucky’s wings shift. “ _Though...I do have **access** to such things, to **memories** , and oooh, the secrets your **Steve** holds_.” James’ wings tense and Bucky’s flare a little more. “ _How broken he is_ ,” Red Skull adds with a pleased smile, “ _So tired of fighting but all he knows is the fight. Alone in a world that has left him behind. **You** , though_,” he pauses, shifting his eyes a little like he’s trying to find someone, “ _ **Both** of you. His lights in the darkness. What would happen to him, I wonder, if I were to extinguish those lights_.”

“You’ll never find out,” Tony cuts in, and Red Skull _laughs_. He sure likes the sound of his own voice. Or Steve’s, in this case.

Same thing, currently.

The lights flicker and Tony frowns, immediately pulling up a holoscreen.

“ _Won’t I?_ ” Red Skull asks.

And then the power goes out.

“What’s going on?” Bruce asks quickly.

Tony thinks for a moment, wings freezing before he rushes over to the far wall. “Son of a- _Barnes! One of you! Break this wall!_ ” he orders. He pulls his phone out and turns on the screen for light just as a metal fist breaks into the cement. Tony puts his phone between his teeth while Bucky pulls his hand back, digging into the hole with both hands and fiddling with the wires.

The power comes back on after a minute, if only for this floor.

“What’s happening?” Sharon demands.

Tony pulls his phone out from between his teeth and hits speed dial.

“ _Romanoff_ ,” he says urgently as soon as the line picks up, “ _I know you’re up to date on what’s going on_. _**The scepter**_.” The line disconnects and Tony looks at the others, whose eyes are various levels of wide.

James isn’t in the room.

Bucky’s the first to move, Tony, Sharon, and Bruce quickly following behind.

\--

_“Lukin wanted it. I don’t know why.”_

He runs.

_“Power, probably. So many people want power.”_

_A pause._

_“Not you?”_

_Steve looking at him._

_“I have the power I need already. In my friends, and in myself.”_

_“And me?” Quieter._

_Lips on his forehead._

_“Especially you.” A whisper._

James _runs_ , wings tight to his back, rounding back into the vault room and not stopping, aiming straight ahead and _slamming_ Steve’s body into the wall just as he’s about to grab the scepter.

“I knew you would find me first,” Red Skull says after a grunt, looking at James with eyes that don’t see him, not the way _Steve_ does.

James holds him in place, makes sure he can’t move.

“He’s burning, in here,” Red Skull says, tilting his head a little in indication.

James doesn’t move.

“How about a demonstration,” Red Skull says next, and then his eyes close with a look of concentration, body going slack before-

Steve’s body jolts, eyes snapping open with a _scream_ that makes James’ hair stand on end, feathers and wings flaring out sharply and eyes widening. Steve’s wild eyes find his and-

And they _are_ Steve’s.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut.

“ _James_ ,” Steve strains to say, “ _Don_ -”

Steve’s body goes slack again and a moment later all of the muscles slowly tense back up like a computer coming back online, Steve’s eyes opening and the Red Skull _looking_ at him, all trace of Steve _gone_ -

“ _ **What do you want**_ ,” James demands after a moment of them staring at each other.

Red Skull _smiles_.

\--

“ _Any sign of him?_ ” Clint signs as he runs out of a joining hall and falls in line with her.

“ _In the room most likely_ ,” Natasha signs back, signalling Clint after and both of them pressing their backs quietly to the wall just before the room’s opening. She leans around it to get a peek inside, slowly pulling her guns out.

She taps her wing lightly to Clint’s and then they both leap out, aiming their weapons.

“Stop,” she orders, training her guns on James and Steve’s body, wings still.

Red Skull pulls his hand back from the scepter, blue glow casting sharp shadows and lighting Steve’s eyes up almost neon, James’ almost a perfect reflection.

“Step away,” she orders next, fingers tightening a little on the trigger when neither of them comply.

The others should be here any moment. She can already hear thunder.

“Waiting for your comrades?” Red Skull asks with a smirk, “They won’t be joining us, not so soon.” Clint’s wings shift just slightly and she lowers her head just as much in return in confirmation.

The Tower’s been infiltrated. They don’t have much time.

She hears footsteps running behind them, slowing to a stop.

Clint lets off an arrow and James blocks just as Bucky carefully rounds the corner, metal pinging off metal and the arrow embedding itself into the wall, electricity sparking and going nowhere in the dead circuitry beneath the wall’s panels.

“ _What are you doing_ ,” Clint demands, eyes on James and another arrow already nocked in place, “We need to knock him _out_ -”

“ _No_ ,” James says sharply, drawing Clint up short.

It’s silent for a moment.

James keeps his eyes trained on them, wings flared a little in front of Red Skull to make him a harder target to hit.

“What’s going on, James?” Bucky asks, stepping forward, just short of Natasha, wings tense. “I _know_ you know that’s not Steve.” James’ expression goes a little darker, mouth pinching.

“He must not sleep,” he replies quietly. Clint’s wings shift a little in confusion while Natasha tries to understand the meaning.

Bucky’s wings still so she waits for him to explain.

“He has too much control,” Bucky realizes. She can hear it in his voice. James lowers his head slightly in confirmation and Red Skull just smiles, looking _pleased_ with himself.

“I don’t get it,” Clint says after a moment, brows furrowed.

“ _Red Skull_ has too much control over _Steve_ ,” Bucky answers quietly, “Inside his head. Remember what you said about Steve maybe being in hell when he was in that coma and we’d never even know it?” Clint’s wings still. “Yeah,” Bucky says, “ _That_.”

“Then we just need to tip the scales back in his favor,” Clint replies after a moment, eyes still straight ahead, “If Steve’s more in control he can-”

Red Skull _laughs_.

It sounds _wrong_ coming from Steve’s voice.

“Our few discussions showed intelligence, but I was right to assume your stupidity, as well,” he says, making Clint _glare_ while his wings shift slightly, uncomfortable, realization of _that_ settling in, too.

Just how often have they talked with Steve and it wasn’t... _Steve?_

“Your dear _Captain_ won’t be getting any _foothold_ in _here_ ,” Red Skull says smugly, raising an eyebrow and tilting his face up a little, “This body is _**mine**_.”

Clint opens his mouth-

“Steve screamed,” James says before he can, quieter, but they can still hear him. His eyes stay focused on them. “It was Steve.”

Clint’s mouth snaps shut and Bucky’s wings shift sharply in Natasha’s periphery.

“Care to try _another_ plan?” Red Skull asks, taunting, reaching back for the scepter.

They can’t stop him this time. Not without-

Red Skull lets out a _sigh_ when his fingers finally wrap around the length of gold, lifting the scepter out of its cradle while his eyes rove over it, glowing a little from the _inside_.

“ _Now then_ ,” he says, turning his attention back to the room, “On your knees.”

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” Clint mutters. None of them move.

“I was not _speaking_ to you,” Red Skull replies, eyes shifting to James.

Bucky’s wings shift again, sharper.

Something like dread curls in Natasha’s gut.

James doesn’t pause, expression going a little blank as he slowly lowers himself to his knees in front of Red Skull, wings folding in submissively to his back.

“Lift the arm,” Red Skull orders next.

James slowly does.

Red Skull grabs the wrist with his freehand, turning it a little this way and that like he’s surveying _goods_.

“Zola’s designs never did disappoint,” Red Skull comments, then lowers the point of the staff to the elbow joint while Bucky shouts, “ _ **Stop!**_ ” and _fires_ -

\--

“Where are they all coming from?” Sharon demands.

“They timed this too well,” Bruce replies, eyes flashing green while he ducks behind a bar to avoid gunfire, “ _Tony! How long?_ ”

“I need sixty seconds!” Tony shouts back, tapping rapidly where his suit is plugged into the mainframe wires, wings twitching sharply while he ducks when a few bullets hit the wall just to his left. “Nazi cult leader thinks he can talk to _me_ about the _Tower security_ pretending to be _Rogers_ and thinks I’d _tell him everything_ ,” he grumbles to himself while he works, typing rapidly into a holopad.

“ _How many are there?!_ ” Sharon shouts, firing a few more shots back.

“ _Too many!_ ” Bruce answers back, “ _Thor?_ ”

“ _Outside taking care of the trucks!_ ” Sharon fires back.

“Guys!” Tony shouts, hitting the last button, “I got it!”

The power comes back on.

\--

“What are you doing?!” Clint demands.

“I have no use for this weapon anymore,” Red Skull replies calmly, hand still gripping the metal wrist, forearm and bicep only still attached by a few wires.

James breathes a little heavily through his nose, wings trembling faintly and brows drawn together slightly in pain while he trails his eyes up to Red Skull’s face, not fighting back.

“Steve,” he says simply, softly, and Red Skull’s wings give a slight twitch while his expression freezes briefly.

Then it goes _sharp_ and _**angry**_ and he tightens his grip on the metal wrist and _**yanks**_ _the_ _**arm**_ -

James winces a little, teeth clenching and wings giving a slight _jerk_ but he keeps his eyes on Red Skull’s face, a light sweat beading on his skin.

“ _ **Stop!**_ ” Bucky barks out.

Red Skull grits his teeth.

“ _I have no need_ -” he struggles to get out, a light sweat breaking out on his _own_ skin while he _yanks_ again, “ _For an outdated- **tool!**_ ” Red Skull yanks again, _**hard**_ , and the forearm finally comes loose, pulled off like _Bucky’s_ had when he-

The remaining wires are pulled out with a few sparks and James’ eyes squeeze closed like he’s fighting that action with everything he’s got, the only sound he makes a close mouthed _whimper_ -

Steve’s whole body and wings give a sharp _jerk_ and the forearm drops with a heavy _**thud**_ -

Steve sucks in a sharp gasp of air, eyes flying open and wings snapping out wide, staring up at the ceiling before he slowly drags his eyes down-

He freezes, breath going still like his wings when he sees-

“... _James?_ ” he asks, horrified. James’ eyes snap open and he looks up.

“ _Steve_ ,” he says, as urgent as anyone’s ever _heard him_.

“ _What did_ -” Steve stops, eyes darting down to the scepter in his hand. Steve stares at it for a second before quickly dropping it. “ _ **What did he**_ -”

His body and wings _jerk_ again sharply and his hands fly up to his head, eyes squeezing shut while he grits his teeth hard on a sharp _groan_ -

Red Skull’s eyes snap open and dart around briefly before he spots the scepter, quickly bending down-

James sharply jerks a wing out to shove it out of his reach and Red Skull lets out a _growl_ , whipping his head around in James’ direction just before Bucky and Natasha tackle him to the ground.

Black wings thrash against the floor while he struggles against their holds and wings trying to push his _down_ , grunting and shouting and baring his teeth like Steve _never_ would-

“ _ **Release me!**_ ” Red Skull shouts, grunting and shoving Natasha off before sharply punching Bucky, pushing himself up on his hands,“ _ **Or your Captain**_ -”

He freezes, nose stopping just short of hitting the point end of the scepter pointed at his face.

His eyes lift up.

James stares down at him, sparks flickering a few times in the cracks of metal streaking up his bicep, wings spread high and wide and eyes ice cold _anger_.

“ _ **Get out of him**_ ,” he commands, the gem glowing a searing blue and his eyes with it before he _fires_ -

\--

“Guys, what is-”

There’s a sharp _blast_ from somewhere far up above, shaking the building a little and blue flashing briefly outside.

Everyone _freezes_.

It fades out.

“ _We need to get up there_ ,” Bruce says gravely, sweat trickling down his temple and eyes flashing green again.

Tony aims and fires his repulsors at a group of Hydra and flips his faceplate back down while Thor lights up the sky.

“First one to the top,” Tony forces himself to quip before taking off.


	34. Rewards/Forfeits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have discovered the music of Ed Tullet thanks to Kay and it is very relaxing and actually I think making my headache go away. Y'all should check his music out, it's really very nice.

The light blasts _through_ Steve and drags swirling, translucent _red_ out the other side. Steve’s body falls unconscious to the floor.

The blue circles the angry red, wrapping swirling tendrils of itself all over it while the red _flings_ itself around inside the subsequent cage, _cracks_ starting to form in the blue until the red _breaks free_ and darts straight back down, aiming for _Steve_ -

James fires the scepter again, eyes an intent, angry glowing _blue_ and the red somehow gets _**dent** _ in it-

He fires again and the red shreds in half with a high pitched, piercing _hum_ -

The two halves disintegrate with a last, screaming _skull_ in red smoke until there’s nothing left.

They all stare.

James drops the scepter.

He moves swiftly and drops to his knees next to Steve’s side while the others quickly gather in close, cupping Steve’s cheek gently with his right hand while keeping the dangling wires of his left angled away from Steve’s face.

“Steve?” he calls softly, gently stroking his thumb under Steve’s eye, “Steve.”

They wait, watching intently.

“ _C’mon_ , you _punk_ ,” Bucky mutters, wings raising a little and twitching, tense.

Silence.

“ _Steve_ ,” James says more firmly.

 _Silence_ -

Steve’s eyes flicker briefly under his eyelids before his lashes start to flutter a little, eyes slowly opening.

“ _James...?_ ” he asks, dazed, eyes gradually focusing and slowly shifting between all of their faces, “ _Guys? What?_ -” Steve sits up quickly, eyes darting around, “ _ **Where is**_ -” he pauses, still looking, “Red Skull?”

They all blow out a breath.

“He’s gone,” Clint says, “Right?”

Steve looks between them all, eyes dropping down for a moment while he focuses.

He looks back up and nods a little, still looking a little dazed.

James leans down and kisses him firmly and Steve’s wings give a jerk, a hand coming up to hold the back of James’ head with a muffled sigh, wings sagging at his back.

“ _Uh_ ,” they hear, everyone else turning their heads towards the room’s entrance.

Tony’s standing under the archway with all of his armor on and his repulsor’s raised, Bruce rounding the corner of it to lean against the entryway a moment later on Tony’s right and Sharon darting quickly to stop on Tony’s left, gun trained.

Thor hovers outside, pressing his hands and face to the glass trying to see in, Mjolnir in hand.

“What’d we miss?” Tony asks.

Bucky rolls his eyes a little, sending a half-smile to Sharon who slowly lowers her gun before looking back down to Steve with his brows furrowed, eyes catching on what’s left of James’ left arm.

“Not much,” Bucky makes himself reply lightly, “Just saved _this_ big lug from winding up the vessel for the leader of _Hydra_.” James finally pulls back and Steve sits up fully, black wings fanned out pitch across the floor.

Bucky’s mouth pinches a little.

“You’re sure?” Sharon asks, double checking.

“It’s Steve,” James says without looking away from Steve, brushing Steve’s bangs aside softly, _intimately_.

Bucky looks away.

He watches Tony slowly lower his repulsors and Thor pull back from the window, slowly lowering himself down out of view.

“Hydra?” Clint asks, drawing their attention to him.

“Handled,” Stark replies.

“Red Skull?” Natasha asks, eyes still focused on Steve, “You’re sure?”

Everyone else looks, too.

Steve stares back.

James has moved to kneel behind him, right arm wrapped protectively around Steve’s chest and a wing slowly fanning out across in front of him, watching them all closely and subtly poised for a fight.

“Gone,” Steve confirms after a moment, raising his hands a little and looking down at them, “I’m...It doesn’t burn, anymore.”

Bucky swallows.

James’ arm pulls Steve a little closer to him.

\--

“So...he’s fine?” Bucky asks.

Bruce narrows his eyes a little at the readings and taps a few holographic keys before nodding a little, arms pulled in and thumbing at his chin while he concentrates.

“Seems that way,” he replies, looking up with a slight shift of his wings, eyes shifting from Bucky to Steve, “Any residual effects that you’re aware of?”

Bucky drops his eyes back to Steve, forces himself to shove down the unease at seeing Steve in a chair remotely similar to-

He shakes his wings out a little, glancing back at James briefly when he catches James looking at him.

Steve looks at his hands in his lap, curling them into fists a few times with that same line between his brow that’s been there for the past hour.

“Anger,” Steve answers quietly, mouth twisting a little and brow furrowing more, “Like an...aftertaste?” he ends on a question, a little louder, glancing over to James and up to Bucky before looking at Bruce.

Bruce raises his wings a little and looks to Bucky and James.

“That’d happen sometimes,” Bucky answers for them, “When the emotions were strong enough. I’d feel James’, pretty sure he felt mine.” He looks over and James nods slightly, eyes shifting back to Steve. “It’ll fade.”

Steve looks back to his hands for a long moment and then nods, letting them relax back down to his lap before looking over at Bruce again. “Am I done?” he asks.

“Yyyyyes,” Bruce draws out in answer before he looks back up from the holoscreen, giving Steve a small smile.

Steve’s lips twitch up a little in return, but no more. “Thank you,” he says, getting up out of the chair, “For helping.”

Both Bucky and James’ wings sag a bit once Steve's no longer in the chair.

“Will you let Tony look at your arm now?” Steve asks, softer, looking over at James with a pinched, pained expression.

James nods but doesn’t move closer and doesn’t touch Steve, just looks at him.

Bucky watches them both, and not for the first time, he's glad that some part of himself ended up with James that knows Steve well enough to _know_ ; to know when Steve needs space and time.

And hopefully also when to give him a kick in the ass.

\--

“ _Are you still going over security footage?_ ”

“I need to pinpoint all the instances Red Skull took over Steve’s body,” Tony replies a little distractedly, typing up a code sequence.

“ _How many have you found so far?_ ” Pepper asks next. Tony pauses with a sigh and looks over after a moment, ruffled feathers smoothing back down when he looks at her face.

“Too many,” he admits, bringing a hand up to rub between his eyes with a few fingers.

“ _How is Captain Rogers doing?_ ” Pepper asks, softer. Tony looks back at her before dropping his eyes to the floor, looking back up at the sequence next and then going back to typing. “ _You haven’t talked to him_ ,” she says, not asks.

He types a little faster.

“I don’t do ‘friends’, Pepper,” Tony replies, “Not outside you and Rhodey and Happy.”

He hears her hum a noncommittal sound and his brow furrows, feathers following suit while he keeps his eyes on the code.

“What?” he asks.

“ _You say that_ ,” Pepper starts, a smile in her voice, “ _But you’re currently living in a Tower **you** designed with floors built specifically for six other people, **and** you’re housing three extra_.” Tony types a little faster, code flying up the screen almost faster than _he_ can keep track of. He’s about to reach his current limit- “ _It just seems to me like you might have a few new **friends** , anyway_.”

Tony’s pinky jams up and the code he's rapidly typing up gets distorted. He stops with a sigh.

“ _We_ designed,” he corrects, smiling a little when he looks over at the other screen and finds her smiling at him already, “And just because I did all that doesn’t mean we’re _friends_ , Pepper. We fight together. We’re on the same team. It’s different.”

Pepper _hums_ again and Tony rolls his eyes, shaking his wings out a little behind him and ignoring the loose feathers that go flying. He wants Pepper’s fingers in them and she's too far away.

“ _Well_ ,” Pepper starts, drawing Tony’s eyes back to her face, watches her wings flutter a little playfully behind her, “ _I’d like to meet them sometime, especially Bucky and James. They sound like interesting people_.”

“ _Oooh no_ ,” Tony replies, shaking his wings back and forth with his head, “ _Barnes_ is charming and suave and _Other Barnes_ does this intense, innocent look that might have you thinking he’s like a _puppy_. Which, by the way, don’t be fooled,” he adds, jerking a wing towards her and a finger, “I think he’s the second most dangerous person in this _building_. Maybe the whole world.” Pepper’s eyebrows rise a little.

“ _More dangerous than Thor?_ ” she asks, curiously, eyebrows still raised a little.

“Don’t get me wrong, Thor’s a powerhouse,” Tony replies, “But I’ve been watching and I’ve seen what S.H.I.E.L.D. had to say about him, and Other Barnes is _sneaky_. That arm of his gives him an advantage t-” he cuts himself off, wings stilling and good mood falling down a few notches. Pepper notices, expression going a little concerned again.

“ _Tony?_ ” she asks softly. Tony shakes his head a little, pulling himself out of it.

“Red Skull damaged it,” Tony replies, looking back at her, “Extensively. They’ll probably ask me-”

“ _Sir_ ,” JARVIS interrupts, “ _Steve is calling for you_.”

“Aaaand that’s my cue,” Tony says with a small flourish of his wings and a wry smile at Pepper. She huffs a small laugh and nods, leaning in a little closer to the screen.

“ _Love you_ ,” she says, smiling softly, “ _Be safe_.” Tony’s wings droop a bit while his smile goes just as soft as hers.

“Love you, too,” he replies, leaning in close to the screen for an air kiss, “I will. And same. Always.” and then the line disconnects. “JARVIS,” he says, after, “Patch the call through.” A new screen materializes with Steve’s face on it, and Tony watches him closely. “What is it, Capsicle? He finally letting me look at his arm?” Steve’s expression pinches a little more than it was already and Tony swallows a little, mentally kicking himself.

Just a little.

“ _James would like to talk with you about his arm_ ,” Steve replies. Tony raises an eyebrow.

“Why isn’t he asking me himself?” he asks. Steve’s expression goes a little dark, wings still. Tony’s wings follow suit.

“ _It’s too soon_ ,” is all Steve says, but Tony gets it, he _does_ , to some extent.

From his understanding, James is used to following orders and nothing else, to not _have_ wants or desires or _requests_. Really, after seventy years of _that_ , it’s a _wonder_ he’s managed to even form much beyond a _connection_ with Steve.

But in that sense, Steve probably helped, helped James discover and want to try to _understand_ what he was feeling and wanted and to act on those things.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” Tony says after a moment, and Steve nods a little before the line disconnects.

Tony pushes himself up off of the floor after finishing the last string of code.

“Run that while I’m busy,” he orders, heading for the elevator.

“ _As you wish, Sir_ ,” JARVIS replies, and Tony watches the doors slide closed.

-

"This wasn't really what I had in mind when I said you should let me look at your arm," he says, ten minutes later, leaning this way and that to get a better look at it from different angles, or what's left of it, "You feel any pain?" he asks, looking back up.

James nods slightly, even though he's just staring straight ahead at Steve where he’s standing back by the wall, watching them both with a tight look, Barnes standing next to him and looking like he's caught in thought, brows pulled together. Tony ducks down a little to look over the few wires dangling down, turning them a bit to get a better look, movements going more careful when James' s wings give the slightest twitch and Tony just barely hears him suck in a breath, only able to hear it at _all_ because he's _sitting_ so close. He tests out which wires get a response but now James isn't reacting at _all_.

Right.

"Do you know which of these wires are connected to your nerves?" he asks. Tony holds up a metal tray for a reflection to see them in when James looks down.

"All of them," he and Bucky both say at the same time. Steve’s mouth flattens further and Tony frowns.

"Which one hurts the most?" he tries asking next.

"The smallest," James replies.

"Figures," Tony sighs, sitting back up straight and staring down at the arm in thought. "I'm going to have to take it off," he decides, looking up. James looks back. "You okay with that?"

"If that is what is necessary," is all he says.

And that's...that.

\--

Steve looks like he wants to bolt as soon as the remains of the arm start coming off, what’s left that’s still attached to the shoulder casing that protects the rest of the bone and muscle and sawed off flesh beneath.

But he keeps still, wings still at his back and looking like he’s _making_ himself watch.

Like it’s all his fault.

“It’s not your fault,” Bucky says quietly, even though he knows it’s useless.

Steve shakes his head slightly, just like Bucky knew he would.

“I did this to him,” Steve replies, just as quiet, even though James can hear him. And even if he couldn’t, he can read their lips just fine, because James…

James is _always_ watching Steve, even now while he’s getting his arm taken off in pieces, and Bucky’s not sure how he does it.

Because it’s not creepy the way James watches Steve. Strange, maybe, but not creepy. He’s just always... _receptive_ of Steve, always looking for him even when Steve’s right next to him, most of his attention focused like he’s awaiting orders, but Bucky knows that’s not what it is, it’s…

It’s like a flower following the sun and a predator stalking its prey and a mother bear protecting its cub. Like a knight who only serves out of loyalty and love and isn’t looking for a reward, only looks to their king. It’s all of those things rolled into one, more than even _Bucky’s_ done with Steve and he’s known Steve _longer_ , looked out for him for _decades_.

James is _aware_ of Steve in ways Bucky didn’t know people could be, that people he’s seen on streets across the world across history _aren’t._

And Bucky’s not sure how James manages to put all of that into one _look_ , that intense feeling.

Bucky’s felt a tiny bit of it before, just enough to get the idea of how and what it is, but it’s hard for him to put words to, and it...It’s dumb, but it makes him feel a little inadequate like Steve’s just gotten the serum all over again and he’s just Bucky.

Just Bucky Barnes, charming kid from Brooklyn and tagalong best friend.

He wonders, then, if any of that came from _him_ , or if it’s all James.

“It wasn’t you,” Bucky says, firm and quiet. He looks over from where Stark’s carefully removing more pieces of the arm when he catches Steve raising his hands a little, staring down at them.

“Maybe,” Steve replies, quieter, “But it was _these_ hands that-...” he trails off, pressing his lips in a firm line. He lowers his hands and forces his eyes back up, looking straight ahead.

Bucky watches him.

“He won’t blame you for that,” he says, softer. Steve smiles a little without humor, brittle and _pained_.

“I know,” he replies, “That makes it worse.”

-

Steve leaves as soon as Stark’s done and Bucky sighs, watches him go, heart aching a little in his chest. He wishes he could fix Steve’s heart like he used to fix his bleeding knuckles, back when they were young and everything was just starting. Before it all got so much better and so much worse.

He feels James stop a couple feet away.

“You’re not going after him?” he finds himself asking.

James’ wings shift slightly in his periphery.

“He will find me,” he replies quietly, and then he’s leaving the room, too, arm gone and shoulder casing the only thing left, steps still adjusting to the imbalance of only having one arm, just like Bucky had to.

\--

Steve’s been sitting in the room, listening to Sam’s rhythmic breathing for-...a while, when he hears soft footsteps approaching and the faint _swoosh_ of wings swaying, both stopping a few feet away.

“Mind if I sit?” she asks after a few moments. Steve shakes his head a little and she pulls up a chair nearby in his periphery, gold catching the lights and reflecting them like water shimmer. He keeps his eyes on Sam, though, guilt still swallowing him whole.

 _All_ of this, it’s-...

Maybe it is too much to put it all on himself, but it was _his_ body, and if he’d figured it out _sooner_ , he might’ve been able to _stop_ all of this.

“I hear he’s healing well,” Sharon says, soft and quiet, and Steve lets himself get pulled out of his head for the moment.

“Yeah,” is all he manages, voice almost a croak. He doesn’t bother clearing it.

They sit in silence for a few minutes.

He’s half expecting her to tell him what Peggy had, that it’s not his fault.

But they just sit.

She’s different from Peggy like that, or maybe the same, knows when he needs the silence and knows when he doesn’t, even if it’s what he _wants_ ( _when it’s anything but. It’s always been anything but)_.

“I knew,” he says after another while, more time lost in a different way, different from having someone else with you in your head. He hears her shift a little, but that’s it. “I knew something was...I didn’t know _what_ it was, but I knew.” Steve grits his teeth a little, fingers curling into fists where they hang between his legs, forearms resting on his thighs. And maybe it’s cruel, but he wishes he could tell this to Peggy, and at the same time, is fiercely _glad_ that he’s not telling this to Peggy.

Sharon’s wings shift a little in his periphery.

“James doesn’t blame you,” she says, soft and sure, like Bucky had. Steve grits his teeth again, harder this time. “I don’t know about Sam, but I know James doesn’t.”

“ _I know_ ,” Steve replies, more harshly than he intends. He bites his lips together tightly, wants to take it back but doesn’t at the same time. “But I still-”

“How well do you know him?” Sharon asks, cutting him off. Steve finally looks over at her, eyebrows raised and wings a little with them.

“What?” he asks.

Sharon looks over.

“How well do you know James?” she repeats, waiting. Steve frowns a little.

“I don’t-...” he trails off, wings shifting a little.

Sharon lets out a soft breath, eyes moving back over to Sam.

“I’m asking because...I haven’t known him long,” she starts, and Steve listens, tries to figure out where she’s going with this, what point she’s trying to make, “But from what I’ve seen of him, _heard_ of him, from before, he doesn’t let people off the hook.” She looks back over at him again and Steve frowns.

“I don’t...understand where you’re going with this,” he admits, brows furrowed a little and one wing raised a little higher than the other in question.

“I’m saying,” Sharon continues, tilting her head a little, “If you feel responsible, if what happened is really _on you_ , do you think he’d be waiting for you?” she asks. Steve blinks. “From what I know, he doesn’t let things fester, or linger,” she says thoughtfully, “Feelings for you aside, he hasn’t done anything to you. Isn’t that proof enough that you’re not to blame? At least not wholly?” she adds, when Steve just looks at her.

Steve opens his mouth to reply, with what, he’s not sure, but closes it again soon after when nothing comes out, eyes dropping to the floor for a moment before shaking his head and looking back up to her.

“James isn’t the be-all-end-all decider,” he replies, then realizes his error as soon as the words are out out his mouth. Sharon smiles like she knows it, too.

“No,” she agrees, still smiling a little, letting it soften, “And neither are you.”

“But it’s-” Steve starts.

“Don’t say different,” Sharon cuts him off again, shaking her head with a small smile on her lips, “It’s not. Not really.” Steve closes his mouth. Sharon looks back over to Sam.

It’s quiet for a minute, the only sound their breathing and the near silent machines hooked up to Sam in the room.

“For what it’s worth,” she breaks the silence with. Steve looks back over at her. She turns her head to look at him, smiling a little. “I don’t think you’re at fault, either,” she continues. Steve’s wings flare a little. She shrugs her own and her shoulders a little. “I don’t. You did what you could. I saw the footage,” she adds, softer. Steve’s eyes drop back to his lap. “You tried to stop what happened,” she says, “Even through the great pain you seemed to be in. That means a lot.”

Steve tries to weigh that against what happened, against what was going on inside his head, inside _him_ , but it’s a hard thing to do.

-

They sit there together for a while, Sharon eventually leaving and Steve still in his lonely chair, listening to Sam breathe. About fifteen minutes later, JARVIS says:

“ _Steve, I have a call from Ms. Carter.”_

“Put her on,” Steve answers, eyes dropping from the ceiling to the holoscreen that materializes a foot in front of his face.

“Come to the gym,” she says right away. Steve’s wings flare up a little while he frowns. “There’s something happening I think you’ll regret missing.”

And then the call ends and Steve’s left wondering, _confused_.

Reluctantly, because he wasn’t done yet wallowing in his own self-loathing, Sharon’s and Bucky’s words and James’ face chasing them round and round inside his head, Steve pushes himself up out of the chair, working the kinks and stiffness out of his neck and back and shoulders while he heads for the elevator.

It takes him down without hesitation, and when the doors open again, he steps out and heads around the corner and down the hall to the gym, steps slowing the closer he gets to the open door.

Sharon spots him.

She nods her head for him to come closer so he does, only noticing then that Bucky’s standing next to her when he steps inside the gym, but his eyes quickly catch on-

He swears he stops breathing for a minute.

The music is strange but somehow fits, all jagged upbeats and lyrics singing something about ‘ _players playing_ ’ and ‘ _shaking it off_ ’, but Natasha and James’ movements match up perfectly, jarring in how fluid and _graceful_ they are while matching the harsher beats.

They’re _dancing_.

Or, more accurately, they’re _ballet dancing_.

They twirl around each other, pushing and pulling into each other’s space without touching at all and yoyo-ing out before reeling each other back in with gestures and spins, wings pulled in tight and one or both flung out on the edge of a move or a spin.

When they meet in the middle again, James grabs Natasha around the waist and spins her, holding their abdomens tight together while her hands go back behind her and her wings mimic the motion, the pose, fire dancing around and in the grips of a shadow, teasing, taunting, but alive, each enticing the other.

James lets her go and she’s off as graceful as she started.

James stumbles, just a little, here or there, but he never stops moving and neither does Natasha, just keeps going and going. It must...maybe it helps his balance, somehow.

The song sounds like it’s starting to come to an end, repeating the same phrase for the fourth time almost in a row when Steve knows what’s going to happen before it does, can see it in the way Natasha seamlessly trails off a twirl and lines herself up fifteen feet away, and James finishes his own spin to face her, stance wide and immovable like a tree with roots wound deep into the Earth.

Natasha runs to him and then jumps while he lifts and pushes her up, and with a little help from her, he holds her up with one hand to her abdomen, her wings and legs and arms going pointed and angled and graceful in the air, neither shaking a bit, the pose perfectly still. It’s-

It’s breathtaking.

James lowers Natasha back down to the floor with her help again when the song comes to a complete end, both of them looking at each other for a moment with small smiles before they look over towards Steve, Sharon, and Bucky.

James’ eyes find Steve’s first, like they always do.

Natasha gestures and the music dies down.

It’s silent for a few moments.

“I didn’t know James could do ballet,” Sharon breaks it, much to Steve and Bucky’s relief (not that Bucky seems to be showing it much, but Steve _knows_ ).

“He was my instructor,” Natasha says while heading over to a bag in the corner, taking out a water bottle, that tidbit taking the three of them by surprise.

“ _You_ knew ballet?” Sharon asks, looking to Bucky.

“Why do you sound so shocked?” he replies, mock-indignantly, and Sharon huffs a soft breath.

“Because you can barely get two socks on that are the same color,” she retorts.

“That’s a filthy lie and we both know it,” Bucky snarks back. Sharon just looks at him and Bucky sighs, running a hand back through his short, spiky hair. “It was…” he trails off.

“Implanted,” James supplies for him. Bucky sends a frown in his direction.

“Yeah,” he confirms, dragging his eyes back to Sharon after glancing to Nat.

“Can you still do it?” Sharon asks after a beat of silence. Bucky blinks, lips twitching up a little.

“I might be able to,” he hedges, “Don’t mean I will, though.”

Sharon sighs like she’s put upon. “ _Fine, fine,_ ” she relents, letting out a surprised sound and wings _jolt_ ing when Bucky takes one of her hands and spins her on the spot, smirking at her surprised look.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t _dance_ , _Agent_ ,” he grins, pulling her further into the gym with a playful wink in Steve’s direction, Sharon letting out a laugh and something like, “ _Is that so, **Barnes?**_ ” Steve blinks a little back and then rolls his eyes, but his lips are curved up a little for the first time in a while now. Steve’s not sure if it was intentional or not.

He watches them spin around like they’re back in one of their old haunts while another tune starts up to match it, and Steve can practically _feel_ the old wood of their frequent bar beneath his elbows.

He holds in a breath, lets the memory retreat back to where it came out from, and turns to walk over to James. He stops a few feet away, forces himself to meet James’ eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurts, wings stiffening before he forces them to relax, or at least, _kind of_ relax, “I _never_ wanted to hurt you, _not ever_. And I know that’s not enough to-”

He’s cut off by James’ lips on his own, James having crossed the space between them, and Steve’s wings give a surprised _jolt_ before they sag a little at his back, the rest of him melting into the kiss, shamefully, selfishly _grateful_ -

James pulls back and Steve opens his eyes, wasn’t even aware that they’d closed.

“I saw you,” James says, and Steve’s wings still, “мой Единственный.”

Steve’s breath stills, too.

“Say that again,” Steve breathes. James’ expression softens and he leans closer, presses their foreheads together.

“мой Единственный,” James says, soft and quiet and eyes on his, wings curving around them both and blocking them in. Steve doesn’t understand the words...

But he doesn’t have to to know what they mean.

\--

“ _He should have rendezvoused by now. Something has happened_.”

“No matter,” he replies, tracing a gloved finger over the outlines of the readings, “We have what we need.”

“ _And the Baron?_ ”

His lips curve up, just a little.

“Will miss his beloved castle for a while longer.”

There’s static like a laugh and then the screen cuts out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "мой Единственный" - "My only one"
> 
>  ~~Sorry if the translation is inaccurate. If it is and you know what the correct form is, feel free to correct me fdjksl.~~ Thank you very much olndina and Alfrun.  <3


	35. Find a place to be safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for thoughts and discussion of suicide. Not heavily, but it's talked about kind of vaguely and in undertones.

Steve jolts awake with a quiet gasp, wings giving a sharp jerk. He relaxes back against the bed again and stares up at the ceiling, feels an arm and a wing slowly wrap around him a few moments later, then _actually_ relaxes.

Lips press to the side of his head and Steve turns towards their owner, wrapping an arm around James’ waist and shifting closer. James presses a kiss to his forehead.

“ _Любовь моя_ ,” he whispers there, and Steve lets his eyes slip closed, sighing quietly. James lowers his head and kisses his closed eyelids, whispers, “ _Солнышко моё_ ,” against them and Steve holds onto him tighter, even though the guilt’s still eating away at him from the inside out.

It’s been two days and it hasn’t let up much, but Steve’s selfish and he wants to hold onto James, wants to keep him close even though it _hurts_ , even though every time he looks at James he sees flashes of James on his knees at his feet, looking up at him calm and then _pained_ , because of _Steve_ , trying to reach Steve through only his eyes and his name.

And Steve remembers breaking _free_ , if just for a moment, remembers making his body _stop_ for all of a second before the _fire_ and _pain_ overwhelmed him and _-_

And destroying James’ arm, _pulling_ at the wires that didn’t break apart that were still connected to his _nerves_ and causing him _pain_.

Steve’d apologized, gotten down on his own knees at _James’_ feet, wings as low as he could get them, practically flattened to the floor and stared up at him and apologizedapologized _apologized_. He asked for James to do whatever he wanted, whatever he thought was right: leave Steve, hurt him, take _his_ arm, _anything_.

But James had just looked at him for a long moment before running a hand through Steve’s hair, then knelt down on the floor with him and said:

“ _I saw you. I know it was not you_.”

And Steve broke, because he felt the guilt like a hammer to his chest, shattering whatever he was made of into tiny pieces, and James didn’t blame him at all, just picked up the pieces and held them in his arms like they were something precious.

Steve opens his mouth to-

Apologize.

Apologize _again_ but stops at a warm finger to his lips, just resting there, light as a feather, and the backs of Steve’s eyes sting while they look at each other in the low light of early morning dawn starting to brighten up the city past the window.

James pulls his finger back after a minute to replace it with his lips, and Steve lets his eyes fall shut and the tears spill over, down onto the pillow, covering James with a wing of his own, hand brushing and settling gently over the metal seal that James’ arm connected to.

\--

“So,” Steve starts, sitting cross legged on the bed and looking at Tony on the screen, “How many days did I miss?” he makes himself ask, is almost resigned to it at this point, moving past _curling dread_ into _resigned numb_.

“ _A week_ ,” Tony answers, and Steve’s wings flare.

“A week?” he asks, the numbness spreading wider, like his wings.

“ _Not consecutively_ ,” Tony replies, looking over and snatching something off of his work table offscreen and fiddling with it, “ _I had JARVIS run a program I made to sweep all security footage from the moment you got in sight of the Tower, looking for certain characteristics that were any degree off from what’s already been recorded_.” Steve feels like he should be protesting that, being watched like that, so closely, but he’s got a rushing sound steadily building in his ears, and for a terrifying second, he thinks it’s Red Skull again.

“ _It started a bit after you woke up from the coma_ ,” Tony continues, oblivious, “ _He had some chats with me, Wilson, but he managed to keep interaction to a minimum. Probably because he knew Romanoff and Barton would figure it out pretty quick. Barnes and Other Barnes, too. I’m a little offended he didn’t have **me** on that list,_ ” he adds, sniffing a little indignantly.

Steve swallows.

“He didn’t interact with James at all?” he asks. Tony’s wings shift a little uncomfortably.

“ _No_ ,” he answers, “ _Besides the…_ ” he trails off, clearing his throat, “ _No_. _Your heat signature readings spiked a little every time, and I checked the measurements for your floor since you had me shut off the cameras. He never showed up during the... **other** spikes, and always left the apartment almost immediately. So he wasn’t there for…_ ” Tony trails off, face contorting like he’s not sure what expression to make.

Steve nods, saving him the trouble. That, at least, gives Steve some relief.

“ _He would know, though_ ,” Tony says after a moment, and Steve’s eyes dart back up. Tony’s wings smooth out. “ _James._ _He’d know if you weren’t you_ ,” he clarifies. Steve frowns a little.

“How can you be so sure?” he asks, quieter. Tony just raises an eyebrow and Steve drops his eyes to his lap. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, letting the silence linger for a bit. He felt the need to ask, but Steve thinks he already knew the answer.

“ _He knew it before the rest of us, too_ ,” Tony adds, and Steve feels a little warmer at that, past the drowning numb.

“Thank you, Tony,” he says after a few moments, looking back up. Tony nods but doesn’t end the call and Steve raises a wing a little in question.

“ _I’m working on something for Wilson_ ,” Tony says, and Steve sits up straighter, “ _I’ll need to talk with him about it, but...I think it’ll work_.”

Steve manages a little smile through the weight trying to pull his whole body and mind down.

“ _Shuddup_ ,” Tony says with a roll of his eyes. Steve grins a little and Tony huffs, pausing after a moment.

Steve lets his smile fade.

“What is it?” he asks, not wanting to. Tony’s wings shift.

“ _Red Skull said- Okay, look, I know a lot of what he said was probably bullshit_ ,” Tony starts. Steve’s wings stiffen a little. “ _But he said some stuff, about you, something about secrets and you being ‘left behind’?_ ” Steve’s wings freeze slightly and he forces them to relax again. “ _He called you broken, too, but really, we’re **all** broken here. It’s like a shattered version of **Alice in Wonderland**_ ,” Tony jokes. Steve puts on a small smile. Tony’s expression sobers after a moment and Steve lets his, too. “ _He might’ve been speaking the truth,”_ he says, _“Might not’ve. But you know you’re not, right? Alone?”_ Steve blinks slowly. _“You literally live in a **Tower** filled with a bunch of crazy people in the middle of **New York City**. That’s one of the farthest places you can **get** from being alone_ , _and trust me, I know_.”

Steve looks at Tony for a long minute while Tony studies him right back, and Steve forces himself to nod a little stiffly. Tony’s wings sag a bit at his back.

“ _Right. Okay_ ,” he says, “ _Let’s not have a heart to heart again. I don’t know if my reactor can take it._ ” He throws a hand dramatically over his arc reactor and Steve manages a more real, but still small, smile this time.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve says again, a little softer this time. Tony looks at him before his lips twitch up, rolling his eyes again before ending the call.

Steve stares across at the wall for a moment, smile fading before slowly dropping his eyes to his lap and looking down at his hands. He spreads his fingers wide.

He doesn’t hear footsteps, but he sees James approaching out of the corner of his eye.

Steve pulls his knees up and crosses his forearms on top of them while James crawls up onto the bed and takes a seat next to him, wings brushing while they sit together in silence.

“You heard?” Steve asks, even though James probably did. James nods in his periphery like Steve thought he would and adds:

“Red Skull told me things, too.”

Steve’s head snaps up.

“What did he tell you?” he asks. James looks back.

“He said he was not ‘here for our affections’, but that he had access to the memories,” he replies quietly.

Steve’s lips flatten and he looks over to the side, out the window.

“He saw us, then,” he says quietly.

“It does not matter,” James replies. Steve’s mouth flattens harder. “He is gone,” James continues, “He will know nothing ever again.”

A pause.

“He is not the one I touched,” James continues. Fingers rest gently against the side of his head. Steve wants to pull away and move closer all at once, wings pulling in slightly. “He is not who touched me.”

Steve finally looks over at him.

James looks back, slowly, very slowly sliding his fingers back through Steve’s hair like Steve’s a frightened, wild animal coiled tight and ready to bolt.

Steve leans into it a little, letting his eyes close.

“It wasn’t just anger,” Steve says after a few minutes, almost a whisper, opening his eyes to look over at James, who looks back, “It was hate. So much hate I can still feel it behind my eyelids and taste it on my tongue like fire and acid,” he confesses quietly, “I don’t know if it will ever go away.” James drags his fingernails lightly across Steve’s scalp and a shudder runs down his spine, out through his wings. His eyes close halfway.

“It will,” James replies, quiet and sure. Steve looks at him for a minute before dropping his eyes down to the bed. He bites his lip roughly after a moment and worries it while he thinks, considers telling him-

“Have you ever…” Steve trails off, shame rising in his chest and twisting his insides, feels James’ eyes on him and that makes it _worse_. “I used to think it, sometimes, before the serum,” Steve tries again, “Not often, but mostly when I got real sick, or everything seemed…” he trails off again, shrugging his wings a little before shifting them, “I’d think about...just...stopping it all.” He keeps his eyes focused on the bed, on his feet. “I knew it was there, but it...it never seemed like an option, not with Ma there and with…with the beliefs I was raised on,” Steve shakes his head a little, taking a breath and risking a look over at James, who’s looking down at the bed now, too. “I didn’t have them for a while, the thoughts, not until-” Steve swallows, “Not until Bucky, and then-” he cuts himself off again, dropping his eyes back to the bed when James looks over. “I thought about it, after I woke up,” Steve continues, quieter, “But it still didn’t...Even now, when I think about it, because of what I did, I want to, but I don’t. Have you ever felt that way?” he finally brings himself to ask, glancing over at James again. James shifts his eyes back to the bed, wings still at his back.

“No,” he answers after a moment, “Not in that way.” Steve blinks a little, lips tugging down slightly in confusion, but waits, gives James the time he always gives Steve.

James tilts his head slightly, thoughtfully, brows drawing together a little in thought.

“If I was ordered to terminate, I would have,” he starts, and Steve’s heart clenches and lurches at that, “I was aware that my functions could cease from too great of damage, but my main focus was my mission. Always. To function outside of those parameters was…” he trails off.

It’s quiet for a minute before James looks up at Steve, wings shifting just slightly.

“I was not like I am now,” he finally concludes, cupping the back of Steve’s head gently with his hand, “What you have helped and given me the chance to become.” His eyes soften and Steve has to blink back the sting of his own, can’t tear his eyes away from James’. “мой Единственный,” James says, gentle and _loving_ , “You are worth more than you think, and I am...glad, and happy, that you are here with me.” Steve’s brows draw together while his lower lip trembles and he lets James pull him in, sinks into the arm that wraps around him and encircles his wings around James, under James’ folded around _him_.

\--

It’s two days later and Steve can’t get Tony’s words out of his head. James helps, but they never stay gone, come back to loop when he thinks he’s finally gotten a break.

He’s punching the stuffing out of his fourth punching bag of the night when Bucky finds him. Steve’s aware of him walking a little ways in and then leaning back against the far wall in his periphery, crossing his arms over his chest while white wings give a flick.

“Does it ever bother you?” Steve finds himself asking after a few minutes of just the sound of his fists hitting the bag, the words finally pushing up past his throat and forcing themselves out his mouth like a tide, his breathing picked up and a light sheen of sweat on his skin.

“What?” Bucky asks, feels Bucky’s eyes on him.

“Getting left behind,” Steve says, punching the bag a little harder on the next swing, “Living in a place where everything we knew is gone,” he hits harder and the _thump_ echoes off the walls, “Being alone in it.”

Steve stops his next punch and grabs the bag with both hands instead, knows that one would’ve sent this bag flying, too, just like the previous three.

He stares at it for a minute before looking past it and letting it go to swing gently back and forth, stepping around to look out the windows at the city, lights all on and glowing in the night, alive like it had been in 1940, but so different now, too. Louder, harsher, _brighter_. The same but different, familiar and unfamiliar, home and _strange_.

Mirror images on top of mirror images on top of nightmares and daydreams and the thoughts he tries to keep locked up inside his head.

“It’s just you and me and Peggy now,” Steve continues, clenching his fists a little before he adds, quieter, “Not even really that.” He barely hears Bucky move, sees him better in his periphery as he comes over and stops next to him, arms still crossed.

“It does,” Bucky finally answers. Steve turns his head to look at him and Bucky keeps staring out at the city. “This version’s not bad,” he continues, softer, “But it’s not home. I don’t know if it ever will be. The only thing that is, is-” he cuts himself off, wings shuffling a little. It’s a moment before he looks back, and Steve stands up a little straighter at what he sees in Bucky’s eyes, wings stiffening a little at his back.

“I thought that was James,” Steve says. The side of Bucky’s mouth ticks up a little, small and wry.

“It was,” he answers, “After.” Steve frowns a little and Bucky glances back out at the city.

“Before we split completely, at the start of it, I...It was me. Those feelings. It was me for a while,” he explains. Steve blinks, wings flaring a little. Bucky drops his eyes to the ground, shifting slightly. “Then we split, and I don’t know what happened, I really don’t, but they were gone, or buried, and I didn’t feel them anymore so I didn’t think about it. And then...then when we were at the house,” he says, quieter, looking back over at Steve, “I thought that was me, but I think it was mostly _him_.” Steve watches him and Bucky smiles a little bitterly, a little sadly.

“And then Red Skull,” he continues, and Steve swallows a little, “I thought I’d lost you for good like how I’d almost lost myself. It wasn’t like with the coma, not quite, but I think that shook something loose. Red Skull just…” he lets out a bitter little laugh, looking back out at the city, “‘Opened the door’.” Bucky’s mouth twists and Steve frowns a little, hates seeing him look that way. Bucky drags his eyes back to him and Steve tries to keep breathing.

“I think I’ve always loved you,” Bucky says calmly, like stating a fact, and Steve’s heartbeat picks up, “It just...changed _how_ I loved you. That’s all,” he says softly. Steve glances out the windows, brows drawn together and heart beating a quick drum in his ears.

“Sometimes, I wonder,” Bucky starts quietly, and Steve looks back. Bucky’s looking out at the city again. “I wonder if the reason James loves you so much is because it came from me, or if it’s all him, or both. Maybe _he’s_ what changed how _I_ felt. I don’t know. I didn’t know even when we were sharing the same _head_ ,” he smiles a little wryly, looking down while his wings shift again, Steve watching him.

“I’m not saying this to make how you’re feelin’ right now about me,” Bucky continues, looking over at Steve firmly, trying to make him understand. Steve does. “You’re just…” he trails off, searching Steve’s eyes, “You’re _home_ for me. You almost always have been, since we were kids. I still don’t remember it all but I _**know**_ , I can _**feel it**_. If you weren’t here…” he shakes his head a little, uncrossing his arms and taking a step closer, raising his arms slowly like he’s scared Steve might run.

Steve holds himself still, lets Bucky cup the sides of his face in his one warm hand and one slightly cooler hand, wings shifting a little.

“If you weren’t here,” Bucky says firmly, and Steve swallows, eyes locked on his, “I wouldn’t want to be here either.” Steve opens his mouth to protest that but Bucky shakes his head and Steve closes it again, swallows it all down. “I care about Sharon, a lot, I’m still not sure if I love her completely but she’s important to me,” Bucky states, eyes focused on Steve’s, “But _you?_ I’m not comparin’, but a world without _you…?_ I can’t do that, Steve. I won’t.” Steve swallows, can hear the truth in it, and the backs of his eyes start to sting. “You are the _biggest light in this world_ ,” Bucky says firmly, shaking him a little, motions gentle but firm. Steve lets himself sway with it, feathers shifting slightly with the motions. “If that light goes out, the world’ll be darker, colder, and I don’t want to be in a world that looks like that. I can’t do it. Just like I’m pretty sure James wouldn’t want to, either.” Steve blinks at that, breath catching, and Bucky smiles, small and sad and knowing. Steve feels thumbs stroke his cheeks and it’s strange, coming from Bucky, but not as strange as it was, before.

“Buck-” Steve starts after a moment, and Bucky leans in and presses their mouths together, cutting him off. Steve’s wings flare up a bit but he grips Bucky’s biceps in his wrapped hands and holds on, eyes closing.

It’s not an amazing kiss. Their teeth practically hit and his lips feel a little bruised, but it still sends little sparks down his spine and both of his legs, up his shoulders and out through his wings.

Bucky pulls back what feels like too soon and Steve blinks, a little dazed. Bucky smirks at him a little sadly.

“James’ gonna hate me for doin’ that,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking Steve’s cheeks again, “He hates sharin’.” Steve slides his hands up to grip Bucky’s wrists gently, holding him there, and Bucky’s smirk fades, looking at him. “ _God_ , he might _have_ to share,” Bucky says, sounding a little breathless while he stares at Steve, “I feel like Icarus and you’re the damn _sun_.” He leans in again and this time Steve’s ready for it, closes his eyes but lets out a barely there, helpless sound at the waves of emotion that crash into him _with_ it.

Bucky pushes in closer and Steve backs up, loses track of how much until his back hits a wall and Bucky presses him to it, lines of him hard and firm all along Steve’s front, just like-

Bucky changes the angle and makes the kiss _deeper_ and Steve melts a little against the wall, wings sagging, pulling away when he feels Bucky’s tongue flicker across his lower lip.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve breathes, pulling his head back. Bucky blinks his eyes open and looks up at him, blinking a few more times to focus. Steve looks down at him. “ _James_ ,” he says, feels the guilt curl in his chest. Bucky lets out a sigh, dropping his head for a moment before letting go and backing up, Steve releasing him as he does. Bucky looks at him for a long minute before reaching in quick and taking Steve’s hand, making him blink. He pulls and Steve moves, lets Bucky pull him close and loop an arm around his waist, holding their hands up and swaying with him a little clumsily at first until he gets his feet back under him while Bucky starts humming.

“What’re you doing?” Steve asks, recognizing the tune. Bucky smirks a little.

“Dance with me, Rogers,” is all he says, humming again, and Steve can’t help his wings sagging a little again, lips pulling up while he turns with Bucky, even though the song makes him feel…

He hums the next part of it when Bucky gives him a cuing look and stops his own.

“You’re still good at this,” he says, smirking.

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Serum didn’t degrade while I was frozen, Buck,” Steve returns dryly. Bucky grins a little sharper and spins him, taking Steve by surprise before reeling him back in quick, pulling them front to front. He starts humming again and Steve grips his shoulder with his other hand, Bucky giving him a _sad_ look.

_You always hurt the ones you love._

\--

Steve’s still humming when he gets back to his floor, one hand unwrapped and working on unwrapping the other. James isn’t anywhere that he can see on his way to the bedroom so he heads straight for the bathroom, dropping his hand wraps on top of the dresser as he goes and getting his shirt off, dropping it into the hamper and kicking his pants and underwear off to join it before heading for the shower.

He’s just shut the water off five minutes later when he thinks he hears something in the bedroom and shakes his wings off before stepping out, eyes finding James straight ahead through the open doorway sitting cross legged on the bed with a book open in his lap.

Steve reaches for a towel and dries himself mostly off before stepping out of the bathroom, scrubbing at his hair with it while plopping down on the edge of the bed and leaning over a little to get a look at the book’s cover.

“‘ _Gone Girl_ ’?” he asks, looking up at James.

James nods a little, brows pulled together slightly while he reads.

“Natasha recommended it to me,” he says quietly, lips pulling down a little, “I think she meant it as a joke.” Steve blinks, cracking a small smile when James looks up, James smiling a little back. The guilt returns and Steve clears his throat, scrubbing at his hair again harder with the towel.

“I, um...I have something to tell you,” Steve starts, making himself look back up at James who’s looking calmly back, book closed and resting in his lap, full attention on Steve. “I...Um,” Steve fumbles, wings twitching a little when James reaches out and stops his hand where he’s scrubbing hard with the towel, stilling it and gently lowering it down. Steve swallows. “I kissed Bucky,” he blurts. James just blinks once. “I love him,” Steve finishes and waits, holds his breath, but James just raises an eyebrow slightly. Steve frowns. “You’re not mad,” he states.

“No,” James answers, raising a wing slightly and tilting his head a little, “You wanted me to be?”

“Well...no,” Steve says, wings shifting at his back and feathers brushing against his bare thighs, “It’s just...usually people get mad when the person they’re going straight with says they have feelings for another fella. Or lady. You said you didn’t-”

“I don’t,” James says before Steve can finish, eyes dropping to the bed for a long moment before he looks back up, “I want you to myself.” Steve swallows. “I want you,” James states again, like he did the last time they talked about this, “And I want you to have what you want. So it does not matter.” Steve blinks, frowning again.

“But what about what _you_ want?” he asks, wings shifting uneasily.

James drops his eyes to the bed, wings shifting a little at his back, and Steve watches him, worry pooling in his gut.

“I have what I want,” James finally replies, looking up. Steve opens his mouth to protest but closes it when James raises his hand a little, asking for a moment.

“Steve,” he says, soft and quiet, and Steve’s wings lower a little when James looks at him _softly_ with it, “I have...much, now. And to have you, most of all...I do not need anything more than that.” Steve blinks a little, the backs of his eyes stinging, and James shifts a little closer, setting the book aside on the bed and reaching up with his hand to cup Steve’s cheek gently, similar to how Bucky had earlier but different, somehow, gentler. “I do not want you to hurt for having to choose,” James continues quietly, “And you should not have to. I will stay with you, even if you someday decide you no longer want me.” Steve shakes his head quickly and James smiles, small and as open as Steve’s ever seen him.

James leans his head up to press his lips to Steve’s forehead and Steve closes his eyes, looking back at him after he pulls away. “I will stay with you,” he says softly, almost a whisper, “I am yours.”

And it’s a simple sentence, but it has tears spilling over Steve’s cheeks.

“I don’t deserve that,” Steve says, almost a whisper. James leans forward and traces his lips up Steve’s tears, licks them away.

“You deserve everything,” he whispers in return, and when he pulls back, Steve surges forward to meet him halfway for a kiss, hand coming up to cup James’ cheek in return.

“You’re okay with it?” Steve asks after they pull away, searching his face.

James looks at him for a long moment and something like panic starts to rise up in Steve’s chest the longer he doesn’t say or do anything, but then James nods and Steve feels like he can breathe again.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Steve confesses quietly, “Sharon…”

“It does not matter,” James replies, just as quiet but sure, stroking Steve’s cheek gently, “I will be here.”

Steve’s eyes sting again.

“I’m not leaving you, either,” he vows, quiet but firm. James’ thumb pauses where it’s rubbing and then _James_ is surging forward to kiss Steve, deeply.

When they part again, James’ eyes are a little wet, and Steve feels guilt, _shame_ for not telling him more often.

Steve reaches up and slides his fingers back through James’ hair, brushes some of his bangs back with it and watches James’ eyes close as he does. Steve sits up and kisses James’ forehead, pressing theirs together after and just looking at him. James opens his eyes and looks back, and Steve smiles.

“I’m never leaving you,” he says, soft and quiet, “No matter what happens. I love you. No take backs.” James blinks and then closes his eyes on a soft sigh that sounds relieved, nodding a little and then looking back at Steve.

“No take backs,” he echoes, then they change the angle and their lips meet again, sealing it with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Любовь моя - “My love”  
> Солнышко моё - “My sun”  
> мой Единственный - “My only one”
> 
> Again, if the Russian is incorrect, please feel free to correct me fjdskl. My tumblr is; shaish.tumblr.com if you'd feel more comfortable doing it anonymously or don't have an account. Also, some have messaged Gina? Aprofessorstale. But Gina is really busy right now so it's probably best not to, that and I don't think people are aware but both Gina and Kay (stringlish) are my betas and help me with ideas, but I'm (shaish) the one writing this story. Same with Last of the Wilds, Ghosts/Ashes, Swallow the Sun, He Wears A Suit Like 1945, etc. The only stories _I'm_ betaing for is Gina's The Stranger, and likewise she is only betaing mine. And I'm not betaing any of Kay's. Sorry if that was confusing to anyone. OTL I wish ao3 had a beta spot so it was less confusing seeing a bunch of names at the top of a story fjdksl. 
> 
> But yes, if you have any corrections or things you want to say about this story or any of the ones I listed for me, it would be best to talk to me (shaish), as I am the one writing them. Anything you see with my username on it is written by me with the exception of The Stranger. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <33


	36. Only then I am human, only then I am clean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just letting everyone know, but I've recently started working on a mermaid au so it's taking up like half of my focus. I'm still working on this one but it's definitely a trade off. Mermaid should hopefully be finished up semi-soon and then I can post it up and get mostly back to this one.
> 
> Warnings for sex.

Bucky’s expecting James to find him, so he doesn’t tell Sharon right away, decides to wait it out and see what happens. Because it’s one thing for Steve to return how he feels, but there’s also James, and James is a wild card.

Bucky waits a day and James _doesn’t_ come find him, isn’t in any place that Bucky wanders to, so Bucky decides to find _him_.

\--

James doesn’t stop his routine when Bucky enters the gym, not even when Bucky stops about seven feet away, just keeps doing some sort of...kicking exercise.

“Well, you didn’t come and beat my face in,” Bucky tries for a start. He’s gone over it countless times in the past day, but everything he came up with to say became pointless because he can’t _plan_ for James.

He’s not sure anyone really can.

James doesn’t even glance at him, just switches legs and starts up another set.

Bucky’s wings shift.

“Look, Steve-” Bucky starts, and quickly blocks the leg that comes at his face, body tense, and James finally looks at him.

“He is not a _pet_ ,” James says lowly, and Bucky’s wings stiffen, “I am not his _master_. He makes his decisions.” Bucky frowns a little, untensing a bit when James shifts and goes back to his exercises.

“I know that,” Bucky replies, brows drawn together, “But it’s not just his decision. You’re in this, too.”

James glances over at him and Bucky watches him, waiting. James looks back straight ahead.

“I will stay with him, whatever he chooses,” James finally says, and Bucky’s wings twitch.

“It’s not that simple,” he replies. James sends him a _cold_ look.

“Why not?” he asks, and Bucky flounders a little.

“Because it- Your opinion matters, _especially_ to him,” he starts, and James stops his exercises, “You can’t just go along with whatever he decides. He’s not your _handler_ ,” Bucky throws back, and James’ wings twitch once, sharply.

James doesn’t say anything and Bucky lets his wings relax a little, unclenching his fingers from where they’ve curled into fists at his sides.

“Look,” he starts. James’ wings don’t move. “I know emotions are still...a rollercoaster that you’re still figuring out how to ride and navigate, but relationships don’t function solely with one person at the wheel. There’s two seats in the car, and you’re in one. What you want matters, now,” he finishes, watches James closely. James drops his eyes to the floor, brows drawing together a little.

“It does not matter,” he says quietly, looking over at Bucky, and Bucky pauses his protest at the look in his eyes, settles his wings back down. “I will not leave him,” James concludes, and Bucky holds in a sigh, because he gets it, he does, even if it’s not what should be happening.

“You can’t treat him like he’s all there is,” Bucky says, and then immediately regrets it when James glares at him, knows what he’s going to say-

“You do,” James states, then goes back to his exercises.

Bucky doesn’t really have a comeback for that, because James is right.

\--

“Remember when I said you were the best girlfriend?” he starts, “Well, I-” he cuts himself off with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. He lifts his head back up, focusing. “So, I think I’ve loved Steve for seventy years, is that okay?”

He stares into the mirror for another moment before sighing again when it doesn’t give him an answer one way or the other.

“I kissed Steve and he kissed me back and I think I love him, too?” he tries, worrying his lower lip and turning it red. His wings shift and he rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, I’ve never had this problem before. How do you tell your girlfriend that you might be interested in another person, _too?_ ” he asks, light blocked out by his hand.

“Well, first you tell her instead of your reflection,” he hears, teasing, and his head snaps up to find Sharon leaning against the bedroom doorway, arms crossed with a small smile playing at her lips. Bucky blows out a breath.

“Hi,” he says, wings tense and twitching slightly with nerves.

“Hi,” she replies back, pushing herself off of the doorframe and coming over, “You and Steve, huh?” she asks, still smiling a little. Bucky’s wings stiffen.

“I- Yeah,” he makes himself answer, because he may not remember Ma all the way but he knows her _and_ Steve didn’t raise him to not be straight with the people he cares about, not when it comes to important things like this. “How much did you hear?” he asks. She gives a thoughtful hum.

“Something about me being the best girlfriend and then you covering your face in despair,” she replies teasingly. Bucky’s wings sag with a sigh.

“Saw that, huh?” he asks, trying on a smile. She returns it, tilting her head slightly with an agreeing hum. His expression turns more serious and hers does too, letting the playfulness fall away. “What do you think?” he asks, softer. She watches him for a moment before reaching forward and sliding a hand down his arm, taking his hand in hers gently.

“I think,” she starts, “If Steve and James are alright with it, I’m alright with it.” Bucky watches her, wings a little tense and stuck to the spot. She smiles and he lets himself relax marginally.

“That simple?” he asks, raising a wing slightly. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m not in control of your life,” she replies, wings shifting a little, “And I appreciate you bringing it up with me first. I’m alright with it if they are, but I’m not sleeping with either of them,” she finishes with a playfully scrunched up face. Bucky lets out a surprised laugh, tension finally draining away, and pulls her closer by the hand, leaning down to give her a kiss.

“Best. Girlfriend,” he states against her lips. She laughs quietly and then kisses him again.

\--

Steve wasn’t sure at first, but now that he’s noticed it, he can’t unsee it.

It’s been three days since he kissed Bucky and told James about it, and every time Bucky enters the room or they enter one Bucky’s in, James is always gone when Steve turns to talk to him or share a look. It’s not strange, they’re not glued at the hip and James can leave and go wherever and whenever he wants, it’s just…

It’s happened _every time_ since then, and whenever Steve tries to bring it up, James just shakes his head a little and says that it’s fine. But it’s not.

James won’t let them talk about it, so Steve asks for help.

\--

“How’s it feel?”

James turns it, makes a slow fist.

“Satisfactory,” he answers. Stark raises an eyebrow and he frowns a little. “Good…?” he tries. Stark breaks out into an easy grin and James’ wings shift a little.

“Test the elbow rotation,” Stark instructs, and James complies, turning it this way and that, pulling it in and stretching it all the way out, makes a fist and watches the plates shift, listens to the metal click and whir quietly, seamlessly. Part of him has missed its company, its sounds, the silence almost too strange without it.

“It is better than before,” he observes, making a quick fist. He looks up and watches Stark... _preen_ : wings fluttering a little while he straightens his posture, lips ticking up more on one side than the other. James lowers the hand into his lap and Stark nods to him.

“And that? I can fix that, too,” he says.

James looks to his left shoulder, at the red star, then stands up from the table.

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint,” Stark says, eyes darting to the door with James’ when they both catch the motion out of the corner of their eyes, “Looks like you’ve got a visitor, anyway.”

James looks back over at Stark, who looks back, raising an eyebrow and a wing a little in question.

“Thank you,” James says quietly. Stark’s wings still for a moment before shaking out a little while he nods with a shrug of his shoulders.

“It’s no problem,” he says a little too casually, “I wanted to see how it worked, anyway.”

James nods and then turns to meet Natasha at the door, following her out into the elevator.

“I’m surprised Steve isn’t with you,” she comments after a moment of silence. James lifts his left arm again and makes a fist, watching the plates shift before resting it back at his side again.

“He was busy,” he replies. Natasha doesn’t say anything to that, but he wasn’t expecting her to. “Why are we going down?”

“Because,” she says, looping an arm through his left just as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open, “ _We_ are going shopping.”

James frowns a little, but lets her guide him out into the parking garage. She guides him to a sleek, black car that rests low to the ground but looks like it holds speed and releases his arm to go around to the driver’s side, getting the door open and unlocking the car.

James stands there for a moment more before opening the passenger side, pulling his wings in tight to his back, and slipping inside, tucking his feathers in before closing the door and pulling open the glove box, finding a hat, sunglasses, and jacket, shoes under his seat when she nods her chin towards it.

He pulls them all on.

“Steve-” he starts.

“Is busy,” she says lightly, starting the car and backing out of the parking spot, steering it towards the Tower’s garage exit-entrance.

His wings shift a little but he makes them still, eyes glancing up at the Tower as they drive by, a pull in his chest getting stronger and stronger the further they get from it.

He opens his mouth-

Natasha pulls a phone out and hits dial, putting it on speaker and setting it down on the console between them. He listens to the dial tone until the other end picks up and-

“ _Natasha?_ ” Steve asks, sounding a little breathless. James’ fingers curl a little on the tops of his thighs.

“I’m taking James shopping,” she says, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“ _I- James?_ ” he asks, and James leans forward slightly.

“Steve,” he replies, and there’s a soft breath blown out on the other end of the line.

“ _Hey_ ,” Steve says, a smile in his voice. James can see it in his mind. “ _You can come back whenever you want_ ,” Steve continues, “ _Don’t let her push you around_ ,” he half teases, the other half completely serious.

“That is difficult to do,” James replies, and Steve laughs while Natasha gives him a playful pout, quickly turning it into a small smirk.

“ _Who’s that?_ ” James hears, and something inside of him curls up and retreats a little.

“ _James and Natasha_ ,” Steve answers.

“ _ **Dangerous combo**_ ,” James hears Bucky say, quieter, then the sound of something getting shoved and a huffed breath.

“ _They’re going shopping_ ,” Steve defends.

“ _That’s even **worse**_ ,” Bucky says back, and then, “ _ **Ow. Punk**_.”

“ _Quit bein’ a baby, Barnes_ ,” Steve retorts, “ _Try to have fun, okay, James?_ ” he directs to James, attention back on them, “ _You might find something you like. And Natasha’s got good taste_.”

“Thank you, Steve,” Natasha says, overly sweet.

Steve laughs again.

“ _You’re welcome_ ,” he replies with another smile in his voice, “ _If you find something, you can show me when you get back?_ " he asks towards James, something in his voice making James think he’s talking about something else. Steve knew Stark was putting the arm back on today, but James hadn’t wanted to...interrupt his time with Bucky.

“Okay,” James replies, a little softer. He thinks Steve might be smiling now, soft and warm around the edges.

“ _Okay_ ,” Steve agrees, and yes, he is. “ _Have fun?_ ” he asks, sounding like he’s stalling. James’ lips twitch up a little.

“I will try,” he replies.

“ _Okay_ ,” Steve returns, “ _I should_ …” he trails off. The pull gets stronger and James wants to go back to the Tower, pull Steve into his arms, and kiss him until night falls and then until the sun comes up, _more_.

“I don’t like talking on the phone,” James finds himself saying. There’s a pause.

 _“Oh_ ,” Steve says, sounding a little disappointed, “ _Okay, I’ll_ -”

“Because you are not here,” James cuts off his attempt to hang up, doesn’t want him to even while it feels like it’s not enough just talking on the phone.

“ _Oh_ ,” Steve says, softer, the smile back in his voice, “ _Yeah_ ,” he agrees, “ _I don’t either_.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes.

The car slows to a stop.

James keeps his eyes on the phone.

“We’re here,” he says quietly. There’s a gentle sigh across the speakers.

“ _Okay_ ,” Steve says softly, “ _I hope you find some things you like_.”

James wants to kiss him.

“I’ll...see you when I get back,” he says a little stiltedly, isn’t used to...conversation. Not like that.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Steve says, softer, somehow, “ _See you when you get back_.”

There’s a long moment where neither of them wants to hang up and eventually Natasha reaches between them and ends the call. James stares at the phone for a moment longer before looking up.

“ _You’re both saps_ ,” she tells him in Russian, lips curved up, but her smile is a little softer than usual, “ _I don’t know why you’re so worried_.”

James frowns a little, glances down at the phone again and then turns the other way to open his door, scanning the area while he gets out. He listens to people talking, walking, cars, the sounds of the city while their doors shut at the same time, rounding the front of the car to meet Natasha on the other side.

He looks up.

The store’s sign looks casual, blends in well with the building, nondescript.

James glances over when Natasha’s arm moves out in front in his periphery.

He looks at her for a moment before looping his arm slowly in hers, and she secures them comfortably together before leading him inside.

\--

Steve hangs up the phone, still smiling a little, and jumps when Bucky’s wing presses into his, snapping his head around. Bucky smirks, a little softer than usual.

“You’re a goner,” he teases. Steve smiles and shoves a wing back into his.

“ _You’re_ one to talk,” Steve returns, and Bucky’s wings flare.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” he asks.

“I’ve seen the way you look at Sharon,” Steve teases, smiling a little mischievously.

“That’s- I don’t-” Bucky cuts himself off, staring at Steve for a moment before spinning around and heading back for the couch. “That’s different,” he says, facing the other way. Steve raises an eyebrow at him after Bucky’s sat back down, follows him over. “It’s not like…” Bucky trails off, gesturing at Steve like _that’s_ going to make any more sense. Well, it wouldn’t to most people, but it does to Steve.

“It’s not like you and James and your _love affair_ of the _ages_ ,” he says, brow furrowing a little while his wings shift. Steve blinks and Bucky drops his eyes to his lap with a thoughtful frown. “I mean, yeah, sure, I can admit I love her, but it’s not...They ain’t makin’ any pictures about us,” he says, looking over at Steve, “It’s not the same.” Steve blinks again, eyes lowering while he lets that settle in his mind, thinking it over.

“She’s not your _Snow White?_ ” he teases gently, half serious, letting the teasing lie when Bucky’s expression stays the same.

“ _You’re_ my Snow White,” he replies, looking at Steve for a long minute, eyes soft, and then adds more playfully, “ _Aaand_ my seven dwarves. Probably even some of them annoying birds, all blue and constantly tweetin’ while they get in the middle of things, just like _you_.” Steve shoves him with a wing and Bucky laughs, smirking right back.

“Shut up and race me,” Steve orders, picking his controller back up.

Bucky grins, picking up his own.

“ _Them’s fightin’ words, Rogers_.”

Steve snorts.

“I was practically _raised_ in a back alley,” he retorts.

Bucky _groans_ with a heavy roll of his eyes.

“ _Don’t I know it_ ,” he grumbles, and Steve shoves him again while Bucky unpauses the game and makes Bucky’s kart veer over into the quicksand while Bucky says, “Fuckin’- _Fightin’ dirty, Rogers- **Damn it!**_ ”

Steve grins and Bucky shoves him with a wing.

\--

“ _Hmmm_ ,” Natasha gives a considering hum, tilting her head, “No. Next.”

James obediently retreats back into the changing room, still listening for anything out of the ordinary even though Natasha told him a friend of hers named ‘Pepper’ rented out the entire store to them.

He can’t trust it, not even her.

Maybe especially not her.

He leaves the door open and pulls on another pair of jeans, a size smaller this time, and then steps out. Natasha twirls her finger and he turns slowly, feeling…

‘Ridiculous’, he thinks might be the word.

Natasha lets out a low whistle and then steps forward, setting a palm lightly to his elbow and gently leading him over to the set of mirrors. “They look good on you,” she compliments. He frowns slightly.

“They are the same as yours,” he returns. She tilts her head a little.

“Doesn’t negate what I said,” she counters.

He tilts his own head slightly in the same direction, looking. He supposes that’s true.

“Now,” she says, gently leading him away from the mirrors. She’s careful with him in ways he appreciates, ways he cannot say to others. He does not have to with her. She already knows. “Try on that shirt without the sleeves that I picked out,” she instructs, “The tight one.” He walks back into the changing room, undoing his shirt and pulling it off. “You’ve been avoiding Steve,” she says casually while he’s reaching for the one on the hanger. He doesn’t pause.

“I have been giving him the required amount of space,” he replies, glancing at her over his shoulder while he does up the side clasps on the shirt. It _is_ tight.

She raises an eyebrow at him, expression blank, and he steps out and past her to go to the mirrors.

“Leaving every time Bucky is in the room is not the same thing,” she says, stepping up next to him, “You need some accessories.” He frowns at the mirror.

“Garrote?” he asks. She hums thoughtfully.

“Maybe a haircut, too,” she adds.

He leans his head forward a little while shaking it slightly, bangs falling forward a bit and curtaining his face.

“Not like Barnes’,” she clarifies, and something in his chest uncoils a bit. “Longer,” she adds, reaching up and slipping two fingers down some of his pinched together bangs like scissors, flattening them. “Maybe grow it out further?” she asks, tilting her head a little again while she withdraws her hand.

“Is it not enough that I am trying on the clothes?” he asks. Her eyes focus on his in the mirror, scanning him down and then back up. Her lips pull up in a small smirk.

“He’ll appreciate them. Trust me,” she says. He frowns again and she just smirks further, leaning against his left arm a little. “That shirt hugs you in all the right places,” she clarifies. He turns his torso slightly, feels her shift with him while watching in the mirror, watches and feels the black material stretch further, can see his muscle definition from the pulled taut material, but it does not rip.

“Allure the viewer with what they can see but is out of reach,” he continues for her. She nods a little and backs up. He turns to face her for a moment before heading back to the changing room.

Maybe he can-

No.

He shakes his wings out a little.

He does not want to lure Steve away from Bucky, by any means, even though it-

Part of him wonders if Bucky’s hands are on Steve right now, touching him in ways only James has, currently.

He shakes his wings out again, trying to dislodge the thoughts.

It is none of his business. It is Steve’s ( _though he hears Bucky’s voice, of all things, telling him otherwise, that it is not **just** **Steve’s**_ ).

“You don’t need to leave the room every time he shows up,” she continues while he strips off the shirt and pants, eyes scanning over the clothes. He picks something blue, the color of Steve’s eyes. “You’re worried,” she says, when he steps out and heads for the mirrors again, carpet soft under his feet, not optimal for combat. He stares at his reflection.

She comes up next to him again, raising an eyebrow slightly before her eyes meet his in the mirror.

“You’re worried Steve won’t love you anymore,” she continues like a hammer to his ribcage, trying to break the support beams that are his ribs, “That he will leave you for Bucky.” His fingers twitch, staring blankly back. “That you will become less to him, nothing, because Bucky is a person, someone he knew before you. Someone who’s also important to him.” His wings give a twitch. They stare at each other in the mirror.

“You know,” he concludes, carefully searching her eyes, because her face never gives anything away as a whole. She nods her head slightly. “You also know that we are not meant for love,” he continues, quieter. She inclines her head.

“The broken things of the Red Room,” she says softly, voice blank, a hand brushing light and deadly down his left arm.

He feels closer to her like this, always has, and is only just now realizing that it was because she made him feel when he could not, would not. She made him human when he was nothing.

He knows he did the same for her.

“How do you breathe without a beating heart,” he says quietly, eyes still on hers in the mirror. She tilts her head slightly, wings still as always at her back.

“You have one now,” she says. He tilts his head towards her, their heads bent towards each other, the shape of a lopsided heart.

“And you,” he returns, softer. Her eyes crease slightly like a small smile, though her lips haven’t moved.

“When I’m with you, sometimes I feel like I don’t have one,” she says calmly.

“And then you make it beat again,” he finishes for her. Their heads brush then settle, pressed gently together.

If he could miss anything from his past, it is her.

“My Natalia,” he whispers, whispers like they always had to, memories seeping like blood in his mind: red in the mud, red whipping like wind, red on sheets, the red that gave him life beyond mechanical breath.

She turns and presses a kiss to his temple, hand coming up to cup his cheek, soft and light and dangerous. She could kill him now.

He lets his eyes close all the way for once, for the first time.

“ _Your guard is down_ ,” she whispers in his ear, fingertips dragging lightly down his cheek, and he hears her voice with a smile in it from a long, long time ago.

 

_‘Your guard is down,’ a playful, dangerous whisper in the dark, a slash of light from through the bars blocking the small window just above ground, just barely missing red._

_'Never,' he whispers in reply._

 

“I am human,” he whispers back this time, and her fingers slide up and back through his hair, gentle.

“ _Are you?_ ” she returns, brushing lips across his ear.

It’s less, now, but she still smells of fire and gunpowder, familiar and warm.

“We are,” he replies. Her hand stills for the briefest moment. “ _We_ are.” He feels her pull back and opens his eyes.

She moves closer, reaches up with both hands and frames his face like something dangerous, like something precious, slides her fingers back through his hair while her wings stay still behind her like his, always. They could never show that much. Not ever.

“My Soldier,” she whispers, and leans forward to press the lightest kiss to his lips, and this time it’s her eyes that close all the way. For once. For the first time.

She pulls back and he misses her, misses her like a deep ache in the center of his chest.

He raises his hands and rests them on her hips, as gentle as her hands are on him.

“He loves you,” she says quietly, stroking a thumb gently under his eye, her eyes roaming over his face like she’s looking over a map she hasn’t seen in years but remembers like the back of her hand, “You are safe in his heart, like mine.” His lips twitch a little.

“Nothing is like yours,” he replies, just as quiet. Her lips curve up.

“Yours is,” she says, “Just the same.” He reaches up and draws her hand down to press his lips to the back of it, soft but firm.

“The same,” he agrees, and she smiles, something old and something new.

“The same.”

\--

He pushes the door open to the apartment and closes it just as silently, keeps his movements the same even with the bags on his arms. He spots Steve in the kitchen and sets the bags down quietly, making his way over.

He rests his hands on Steve’s hips and Steve just lets out a soft breath, turning around after a moment and eyes widening a little when he gets a look at James, eyes slowly drawing down and then back up, taking in the new clothes, his arm.

It seems Natasha was right, he _does_ like the tighter ones. Most do, but it’s important to him that _Steve_ does.

James just looks at him for a minute, eyes roving over his face, and Steve seems to pick up on the mood, resting his hands on James’ hips in return, has questions in his eyes but lets them settle for now.

James reaches up and frames Steve’s face, leaning in to kiss him, soft and gentle, something quiet in the silence of the apartment. Steve returns it, sighing softly through his nose, warm breath tickling his face, one hand coming up to touch his left arm, gentle, like it’s made of glass and not metal.

“Hey, there,” Steve near whispers when James pulls away, smiling at him, “How was your trip?” he asks softly. James thinks about it.

“Educational,” he settles on, “I should not have left you as I have been.” Steve’s smile goes a little softer at the edges, brows drawing together a little.

“It’s fine,” he says, “I...understand why you did it. And why you didn’t want to talk about it. I just…” he trails off, “I’m sorry. If I hurt you. For being the reason you felt you had to leave in the first place.” He looks like he wants to add more, about not being there with James when he got his arm, but that is a discussion for a later time.

James shakes his head a little, kissing Steve gently again before pulling back.

“No,” he says, “I was wrong, and...insecure,” he settles on, a little uncertain of the word, but Steve just watches him, waits, so he keeps going, “I did not feel like I belonged. That your heart could not possibly hold room for both of us. But I was wrong.” Steve blinks a few times, eyes a little shinier under the lights. “Your love won’t...stop, fade, because you love him, too,” he finishes, still a little uncertain, but when Steve reaches up and cups the sides of his neck, pulls him in for a firm, _loving_ kiss, the doubt melts away. Now, James _sighs_ into it, melting a little into Steve.

“No,” Steve answers, after pulling back a few inches, looking at him, “No,” he repeats firmly, “I won’t stop loving you. I can’t speak for the future, but loving Bucky won’t diminish my love for you.” Steve rubs a thumb across James’ cheek and James closes his eyes, reach up and holds Steve’s hand there. He feels Steve’s forehead press to his and opens his eyes again, stares right back into Steve’s, so close and so warm. “I love you,” Steve almost whispers, “I don’t think that’s gonna change anytime soon,” he adds with a small, honest smile. James pulls him closer and kisses him again, again and again, folds his wings under Steve’s and then Steve’s under his, keeping him warm and close.

He’s _okay_.

Steve’s hands go back to his hips, fingers pushing up under the hem of his shirt and sliding up, pushing the bottom of his shirt up with it. James shivers a little and pulls Steve close and Steve starts backing them up, stops when James’ back bumps into the kitchen island and slides his fingers up higher, fingertips brushing gentle across his nipples and James huffs out a breath between kisses, spreading his legs.

Steve steps in between them like slotting into place, sliding his hands back down after a minute and undoes the front of James’ jeans, huffing a breathy laugh against James’ mouth when James has to _wiggle_ to help him get the skinny jeans and underwear down and off.

They part and Steve’s eyes dart around the room, landing on the oil sitting on the counter behind him before looking back to James and raising his eyebrows and wings a little in question.

James nods, only stays still long enough for Steve to grab it and set it on the kitchen island before pulling him back in, lips finding Steve’s and tongue finding its way into Steve’s mouth.

Steve wraps his arms around James’ waist, pulls him close while he grinds their hips together back against the counter, both of them panting softly while Steve changes the angle of the kiss and makes it deeper, reaching blindly for the oil. James hears his hand hit plastic, plastic shifting and skidding a little across the counter, and then Steve gives a frustrated grunt without breaking the kiss and there’s the sound of plastic _tearing_.

James has enough mind left to shove his new pants aside on the floor with a foot and get his shirt off and drop it on top of them when he feels a thin drip of oil drop from the edge of the counter and hit the outside of his thigh, slowly sliding down. James spreads his legs wider when Steve’s lower half pulls back and sucks in a quiet breath when he feels Steve’s slick fingers find his entrance, angling his hips up to make it easier for Steve while his cock throbs.

Steve gets three fingers in, kisses gradually getting messier, more _desperate_ , and James only pulls his hands off of Steve to reach for the front of Steve’s jeans, smirking slightly against Steve’s mouth when he gets the jeans undone  _without_ damaging them like Steve had the oil container, still rocking a little on Steve’s fingers with breathy little sighs. Steve huffs a breath against his face and James opens his eyes, stares up at Steve’s half-lidded ones focused solely on him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mumbles, lips curving up, and then they’re kissing again and Steve’s pulling his fingers out and James is shoving Steve’s jeans and underwear down a little, just enough to pull his cock out. Steve’s hands grips under James’ thighs and _lift_ , and James wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and his arms around the back of Steve’s neck, wings fluttering a little. Steve lets go with one hand to reach down and guide his cock, and James cracks his eyes open to look at him when the head brushes against his entrance, Steve staring back while they pant against each other’s mouths.

James holds his breath while Steve pushes in slow, groaning heavily against James’ mouth and letting go of his cock once it’s halfway in to wrap his arm around James, holding onto him and fingertips digging into his scarred skin while he pushes almost all the way inside, eyes falling closed and forehead dropping to James’ shoulder while he pants. James unwraps one of his arms to hold Steve’s cheek, finds his lips again when Steve’s seek his and kisses him messy and deep while he pants softly through his nose, groaning faintly when Steve pulls out a little and slides back in.

Steve moves them after a moment, pushes James’ back against the nearest wall and presses in close enough that their fronts are pressed firm all along each other and then _moves_ , pulls out and pushes back in in one long roll and James moans, low and quiet, sliding his fingers back through Steve’s hair and shuddering a little at the moan Steve makes when he grips it.

“Steve,” James pants between kisses, and Steve gradually picks up the pace, gets his fingers in James’ hair while the others stay braced and holding under James’ thigh.

“James,” Steve pants back, starting to moan softly on every thrust, and dips his tongue into James mouth, exploring every inch of it he can find like he hasn’t already, like he doesn’t already know it and it’s the first time. Steve thrusts his hips up and James shifts a little, tries to meet each one, moaning quietly into Steve’s mouth while their tongues tangle and slide, cock rubbing between them against the material of Steve’s shirt and bare planes of his own stomach, leaking and making more of a mess of them both while his ass brushes against the rougher texture of Steve’s jeans.

“ _Steve, Steve, Steve,_ ” James whispers like a prayer, “ _Любовь моя. мой Единственный._ ” Steve’s hand slides up to cup the back of James’ head, a reprieve from the wall.

“ _God, I love you_ ,” Steve whispers back like a confession, wings curving in closer under James’ while James’ do around his, “ _James_ ,” he whispers reverently.

Steve pulls back to press their foreheads together and they both get their eyes open, look at each other while they both pant and moan and Steve _moves_ in him, close, so close, hand sliding down to trace over the star on his shoulder.

“ _I love you_ ,” James whispers back, “ _Я тебя люблю_ ,” and then he’s coming between them with a held in gasp, stomach muscles tensing and Steve follows close behind with a deep _groan,_ hand gripping his left arm _gently_.

They both pant, pressed tightly together, trying to catch their breaths, and James slides his fingers back through Steve’s hair, holding him close.

“ _Я тебя люблю_ ,” he repeats, “ _Солнышко моё_ ,” and it _consumes_ him like the sun even though he’s made of _steel_ and _ice_.

_“I love you.”_

\--

“ _Sir_ ,” JARVIS says.

“Yeah, JARVIS?” Tony asks, sparks flying from his blowtorch.

“ _The doctors have informed me that it is time for Mr. Wilson to be woken from his induced coma_ ,” JARVIS reports, and Tony’s wings flare as he turns off the blowtorch, pushing up his visor.

“Here we go,” he mutters to himself, setting the blowtorch down with the visor and heading for the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Любовь моя - “My love”  
> Солнышко моё - “My sun”  
> мой Единственный - “My only one”  
> “Я тебя люблю” - I love you


	37. I've got those jetpack blues/I'd give my life to be human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERMAID AU IS DOOOOOOOONE and posted now I can update _everything else_ fjdkfjsl. Thank you to Kay (Stringlish) for betaing while Gina is busy.  <3 I've been told this chapter is basically emotionally compromising. fjdskl.  
> Also, split title because they apply to two different characters and yet everyone all at once and I couldn't settle on _one._

_“...-should be coming out of it any minute.”_

Sam groans slightly, squeezes his eyes shut a little.

_“...-ilson? Mr. Wil-...-ear me?”_

Sam _groans_ again, squeezing his eyes shut more before trying to blink them open, then slamming them shut at how bright it is.

_“Lower the lights.”_

The light behind his eyelids dims to a soft glow and he warily tries blinking them open again, sees a stretch of shiny white floor and white cabinets against a far wall. “ _Where?_ ” he tries, but it comes out as mostly gravely sound. He winces at the dull pain in his throat.

“Your throat might be sore,” an unfamiliar voice says, somewhere- somewhere a little back to his left. “We just removed the tube before waking you.”

Tube?

“ _What?_ ” he tries again, and coughs, wincing when his throat scratches.

“Here,” the voice says. Shuffling, then footsteps. A belt takes up the space where his view of the wall was and he blinks, trying to lift his head. The room spins and he lowers it back down.

There’s the sound of something scraping quietly, and then Steve’s face comes into view, holding a cup and a small stick with a sponge on the end of it, looking worried and like he’s trying to stifle it-

Wait.

Steve.

_Bucky._

“Barnes-” he starts, trying to shift up, then coughs again with a sharp groan when pain lances up his back. He quickly lowers himself back down and it lessens.

“Don’t move,” Steve says, sitting back down in the chair when Sam gets his eyes open again. He’s got that line between his brows, the worried one, and his wings are flared a little, tense.

“Ba-” he starts again.

“Bucky’s fine,” Steve says calmly, lips twitching up a little, but that line stays right where it is. The unfamiliar voice says something about fluids and the sponge and then there’s footsteps retreating. Steve holds the sponge out close to Sam’s lips and Sam parts them, presses down on the sponge between his tongue and the roof of his mouth and relishes the cold that slides down his throat. “He should be here soon.”

“ _Bucky is currently in the elevator, heading to this floor_ ,” JARVIS informs from the ceiling, and Steve’s wings sag a little at his back. He dips the sponge into the cup again before bringing it up to Sam’s mouth. “What do you remember?” he asks.

Sam presses down on the sponge with his tongue while he thinks.

“The mission,” he says fuzzily, after a minute, eyes going unfocused, “Falling...I haven’t done that in a while.” He focuses his eyes again and Steve’s got this look on his face, small, subtle, but one Sam recognizes. “My wings,” he says, and Steve looks down as he dips the sponge into the cup, “They were tangled. There was pain.” Steve looks up after a moment, raising the sponge. Sam opens his mouth for it, sucks down the cold. “What happened?” he asks after, dread curling slow and quick in his chest all at once.

Steve looks at him for a long minute before Sam hears the sound of a door opening and Steve looks over, wings raising a bit. He looks back to Sam as he stands up and then he’s moving out of Sam’s field of vision.

Someone else steps into view and hovers there, and all Sam can see is a dark blue shirt over jeans, and slightly twitchy white wings.

He sighs.

“Get down here, Barnes,” he says, eyes closing for a moment, “Can’t see a damn thing but a clear line to your junk.”

He opens his eyes again to see the wings have gone still, and then Barnes is sitting and Sam can actually see his face. He looks like he’s about to give a speech at someone’s funeral.

“It’s bad,” Sam says, “Isn’t it.” Doesn’t take rocket science to figure _that_ out.

Barnes nods and Sam swallows.

“How bad?” he asks, forces his voice steady. He sees Bucky glance over in the direction Steve went and then the sound of something being set down and footsteps receding.

Bucky’s eyes drop to the floor for a moment, takes a breath, and then looks up.

“Gone,” he says quietly, and it kind of feels like Sam’s heart stops in his chest.

“Gone,” Sam repeats, and Bucky nods a little, wings still at his back.

It’s then that Sam realizes there’s no weight at his back. He’d been too hazy, and then too focused on everything else. Maybe it was his brain’s way of trying to protect him for just a little bit longer.

The backs of his eyes sting and he closes them, wants to laugh and wants to cry, and he’s not sure which one’s going to win. Maybe both.

He squeezes his eyes shut tightly. After a few minutes, he opens them again.

“Show me.”

“Sam-”

“Barnes,” Sam cuts him off, and Bucky goes quiet, “Show me.”

“JARVIS,” Bucky says after a minute. A screen materializes and Sam’s eyes lock on it and-

And he stares.

They’re twisted, mangled up, lying on a metal gurney. There’s strips and sections of gunmetal gray visible through the rust-colored, dried blood, bones sticking out from various angles.

“There’s something else you need to know,” Steve says, footsteps coming back. Sam snaps out of his trance and glances up when Steve stops next to Barnes.

“Steve-” Bucky starts.

“Bucky,” Steve cuts him off firmly, not taking his eyes off of Sam, “You need to know. JARVIS? Please?”

The image on the screen flickers to one that’s moving, and Sam looks back, sees Steve on the screen in the security footage heading for the chute equipment.

\--

When he was eight, he’d watched an airplane start coming down for a landing for the first time, looked up at his mother, and said, “I’m gonna be an airplane.” She’d nodded her head and replied, “Alright,” with an open smile and eyes that said he could do anything he wanted.

Pararescue wasn’t quite what either of them had had in mind, but despite the cons and the risks, he’d loved it.

Helping people, flying.

Now…

\--

“How’s Sam doing?” Steve asks, wings raised slightly.

It’s been three days. Sam’s still on the medic floor. When Steve saw him a few hours ago, he seemed...better than he expected, which means he’s most likely not, if Steve’s experience with bottling things up is anything to go by.

Bucky shakes his head a little, keeps his eyes on the city. “I don’t know.”

They watch the sun refract off of the buildings, off of the wings of the occasional flyer, the cars down below.

“It’s not your fault, Steve,” Bucky says quietly, and Steve’s wings give a twitch.

“It-”

“It’s not,” Bucky cuts him off, and Steve’s fists clench. “Everything that happened?” Bucky asks, and turns to look at him. Steve looks back. “That’s on _them_. And yeah, I’ll be blaming myself for not being a little faster, a little _better_ ‘till the _cows_ come home, but most of the anger?” Bucky looks at Steve hard. “We aim that at those _bastards_. We don’t self destruct like they want us to. We aim it at _them_. You understand?”

Steve nods slowly after a minute and Bucky nods back, looking back to the city again. Steve reaches over after a minute and brushes a couple fingers against the back of his hand. Bucky opens his fist and grabs them, grips his hand tight.

Steve holds on just as tightly back, a promise.

\--

Sam hears the doors slide open and glances up, can see it now that the doctors have cleared him to at least ‘ _lay as still as possible’_ with the upper half of the bed angled up. He’d love to get _out_ of the bed, but a big part of him doesn’t want to find out what it’s like walking without-

He cuts off that train of thought.

If he’s being honest, and he almost always is, he’s been expecting this visit for a few days now. At least, he’s pretty sure it’s been that long, but he can’t really bring himself to care about keeping track.

He watches James walk closer, can’t hear his footsteps, and then take the seat next to his bed and just look at him. Sam thinks he manages to look back for about five minutes before he has to look away.

“I’m surprised you didn’t come earlier,” he says. James doesn’t say anything. “You here to tell me I shouldn’t blame Steve?”

Silence.

Sam’s wings would twitch, if he still had them.

“I know you don’t care about anyone but-”

“Steve has suffered enough,” James finally says, quiet as usual, but no less... _less_. He’s got a presence about him, when he wants people to know it. Sam stares straight ahead. “I came to see how you were.” Sam’s eyes snap over to his, a little wide.

“ _You came to see how I was_ ,” he repeats, incredulous. James just looks back. “You don’t really care about anyone else but Steve. Maybe Barnes and Romanoff, but that’s stretching it.” Sam studies him and James keeps looking back, calm as anything. But even as Sam says it, he knows it’s not _completely_ true.

He thinks it’s hard, for a lot of people get a good read on James. Hell, it’s hard for _Sam, too_ , but he knows-

Honestly, he’s not entirely sure _what_ he knows, he hasn’t interacted with James that much, but what he _does_ know is that James isn’t a spy. He won’t say one thing and think another. He doesn’t _lie_. He doesn’t have a reason to. And if he says something, he means it, doesn’t just say it because it’s there to say. Sam’s always respected that about him, even when James was scaring him half to death.

So, if Sam wants to get to the real reason why he’s asking, he has to put his years of round about talking habits to the side and just be straight forward. He’s more than capable of that right now.

“Why do you care?” he settles on.

“You are important to Steve,” James replies, still looking at him, “And I do not...like what has happened to you.”

“So...you care what happens to me because _you_ care, and not just because of Steve?” Sam asks. James nods, and Sam sits back a little, winces while he lets that sink in.

 _How much_ James cares would probably be pushing it, but he cares enough to _ask_.

 _To hell with it_ , Sam thinks, he’s not feeling gracious.

“How much do you care?” he asks next, looking back over at him, _pushing_ for once.

“I would not let you die,” James answers calmly, wings still, “I do not like that you have been injured. You valued your wings the most, and they have been taken from you. If the opportunity had come, I would have let you kill those responsible.”

Sam blinks at that, glances down at the sheets while he lets _that_ sink in. It’s a...morbid way of looking at things, but, well.

It’s probably one of the most _honest_ sentiments he’s ever heard.

Is this what it’s like? Being Steve around James? Or rather, being someone James _cares_ about?

“I appreciate that,” Sam says after a little bit, looking over at James again, “Not sure I’d want to do it, but I appreciate the thought.” James nods slightly and Sam looks back at the sheets, thinking.

It’s quiet for a while after that.

He’s not sure how much time passes by, maybe an hour, but eventually James stands up and heads for the door.

“Not gonna tell me I’ll ‘be alright’?” Sam calls over. James stops and turns to look at him.

“That is not my decision to make,” he replies simply, and then turns and leaves.

Sam stares at the spot he was stopped at for a while, and then blows out a slow, shaky breath.

\--

The problem is, every time Sam thinks about his wings, is starkly aware of the lack of them, their weight, the feathers that brush- used to brush against his arms and back and legs, would be right now if he had them, he sees Steve messing with the chute equipment.

Now, logically, he knows that wasn’t Steve. That was Red Skull and Hydra and, damn, Steve went through his own hell, too. Sam knows this.

But emotionally, all he can see is Steve, and he’s trying real hard to differentiate the two.

He thinks he’s getting there, but it’s taking a while.

“JARVIS,” he says.

“ _Yes, Mr. Wilson?_ ”

“Can you show me any of what happened with the Red Skull?”

“ _Yes, Sir_.”

A screen materializes in front of him and he watches what little footage there is. It’s not a whole lot, but easy to tell when Red Skull smiles that it’s _not_ Steve in there.

When the video ends, Sam takes a moment to absorb and think.

“ _There is more that I am told happened_ ,” JARVIS says after a bit, and Sam looks up.

“What happened?” Sam asks.

JARVIS pulls up the files, and that’s how Sam learns about James’ arm, and understands what he meant when he said Steve’s suffered enough.

It’s easier to differentiate after that.

\--

“ _Wakey, wakey_.”

“ _Hnng?_ ” Sam gets out, trying to get his eyes open, “ _What?_ ”

“I said: wakey, wakey, e-”

“Don’t you _dare_ say ‘eggs and bakey’,” Sam grunts, finally getting his eyes open enough to see Stark standing at the end of his bed, wings shifting around excitedly. He all but bounces over to the side of the bed and it is _too damn early for this_. “What _time_ is it?”

“ _3:51pm, Sir_ ,” JARVIS supplies, and Sam sits up a little more at that, wincing.

Okay, so not as early as he thought it was.

“What do you want, Stark?” he asks, looking over.

“Chipper as ever, Wilson,” Tony returns, grinning a little.

Sam gives him a look and Tony just shrugs his shoulders and wings. Sam avoids looking at the latter.

“I owe you something. Remember?” Stark asks, and Sam blinks, needs a moment to remember what he’s talking about. His brows draw together when he does.

“Yeah…?” he trails off on a question. Stark rolls his eyes with a huff and Sam slowly puts it together, eyes widening. “ _No_ ,” he says, eyebrows rising a little, “You can’t- _Can_ you?” he asks.

Stark just raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Wilson,” he starts, “I’m Tony Stark. I can do anything. Now get out of that bed so you can work on building that muscle back. You’re gonna need it.”

Sam stares at his smirking face for a long minute, isn’t sure how to feel about this, but.

Well.

He’d given up his hope of flying pretty quick after seeing his wings mangled on a slab, but now it’s...

He sits up slowly, wincing, and slowly turns on the bed to place his feet on the floor, goosebumps zinging up his legs and a shudder running throughout his body when his skin touches the cool floor.

“Alright, alright,” he says, still a little dazed, “Is this really happening?”

Stark’s smirk just stretches further.

 _Guess it is_ , Sam thinks, and struggles to push himself up to standing, gripping the bed rail.

\--

“I’m not saying you have to, but it would be interesting to see,” Bucky says, pressing a kiss to the side of Steve’s neck. Steve’s wings give a jerk.

“ _Bucky_ ,” he groans, scandalized, wings shifting around against the bed, “I am _not_ sleeping with _Peggy’s_ **_niece_**. _Especially_ not just so you can _get off on it_.” Bucky smirks and Steve groans again, rolling his eyes. “ _No_.” Bucky sighs.

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, pressing another kiss to the tip of Steve’s nose. Steve’s face scrunches up a little and Bucky laughs. “But...speaking of sleeping with people,” he starts, and Steve snorts even though his wings quickly go still, “Do you...want to?” Bucky asks, studying Steve with his wings raised a little in question.

“I...I don’t know. Maybe,” Steve replies, can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. His wings give a small twitch. “It’s still a little weird. You and me.” Bucky huffs a laugh and lets go of Steve’s arms, rolling over to lay on the bed next to him.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Bucky says, shaking his wings out a little while he stares up at the ceiling.

He turns his head after a moment to look at Steve and Steve looks back.

“I used to look out for you, then I started looking _at_ you, then stopped...Now it’s back and... _changing_ ,” he says, and sits up a little, resting on an elbow to lay half on his side, looking down at Steve. “I’ve loved you since I knew you, though, Stevie, even if it was different then,” he adds, softer.

Steve makes himself look back, kisses Bucky in return when Bucky leans down to kiss him, a wing shadowing over him while white stretches out over across the bed. White that always meant home.

\--

Sam strains but keeps walking, hand braced on the wall, _step, step, step_.

He stops, takes a deep breath with a wince, pain fracturing out from his back like spiderweb cracks in glass, spreading throughout his whole back side, and looks back.

He’s only halfway from the room.

Looks forward.

Halfway to the elevator.

 _Damn_.

He grits his teeth a little and takes another step.

 _Step, step, step_.

\--

“You seem down.”

James shifts his wings slightly.

“Fishing, Natalia?” he asks. He hears a soft hum.

“Steve spending time with Bucky?” she asks, taking a seat next to him. It’s his turn to hum in reply. Her wing gently brushes his. “I’m surprised Clint didn’t steal you away as soon as you were free.”

“He prefers Bucky,” he replies, counting the marble lines in the countertop, “He is more...sarcastic.”

It’s silent for a moment. Her wing brushes his again.

“ _Is someone feeling left out?_ ” she teases gently with a smile in her voice in Russian. He slants a look at her, giving her wing a small nudge, watches her lips curve up a little further.

He looks back down at the countertop, tracing along a line like a vein, metal on smoothed marble.

“ _I am not used to_ …” he trails off, mouth pinching slightly and brows drawing together a little while he tries to understand how to word what he’s feeling.

She gives him the gift and curse of time.

They both know it well.

“ _We saw them on our mission_ ,” he starts after a few moments, eyes focused on the counter while he thinks, “ _People together. Couples. Laughing and talking. I thought nothing of it. I knew nothing of it. It was fact that I was aware of. Now_ …” he trails off, wing brushing hers again. He looks over and she just looks calmly back. “ _We were never like that_ ,” he continues, “ _It was always a game, or a fabricated story_.” They could _never_ have been like that, not for real, not then.

She reaches up after a moment and sweeps some of his bangs aside and he watches her, misses things he didn’t know he could miss because he didn’t _know_ them, and didn’t entirely know what it was he felt at the time, just that they were there and they _demanded_ things of him, _from_ him, things he learned _with_ her. Things they learned together.

She cups his cheek gently and he closes his eyes, leans into it a little, and feels her shift closer, just closer, breathing the same air again for the second time in a long time.

His concept of time has evolved to moments outside of mission parameters, though still vague, but he thinks the last time they did this, he was young and she was too, and it was 1958.

He leans his head closer and presses his lips to her cheek, mouths something soft and gentle against her skin and her thumb strokes gentle over his cheekbone in response, callused but soft. James closes his eyes again and presses his forehead to her temple, gets lost in the fire of her hair, her scent, the faint smell of gunpowder and the feel of her skin on his, never against, never the kind of friction that burned to the point of corrosion, even past his programming, even though he sometimes longed for it. Or maybe it was Bucky that had. He doesn’t know.

He has words now for what he felt, knows them better after his time with Steve, knows better what is between them.

And now she knows his heart in words he may never put voice to.

She pulls back and he opens his eyes.

“ _Come_ ,” she beckons, rising from her stool, and he stands with her. She offers her hand and he looks down at it before looking back up. She tilts her head slightly with a small smile, half real and half imaginary, just like her. “ _Call Steve, and let me show you more of the world_.”

He looks down at her hand again before taking it, lacing their fingers together.

\--

James walks beside her, hand in hand, him in a hat and sunglasses and her in a dark brown wig and eye glasses that make her look softer, pace sedate enough to blend in with the crowd.

He likes this, walking _with_ her, _next_ to her, fingers locked together instead of following behind a master or scouting ahead, fingers wrapped around a gun or knife instead of slender and strong digits.

He likes this a lot, and the fact that they _can_ do this. That she wants to.

That it might be real this time.

She takes him to a vendor and he tries a ‘New York City hot dog’, ends up crossing his eyes and trying to lick up all of the mustard around his mouth while she laughs quietly, wings brushing. He likes hearing her laugh when he smears some of it on her cheek before she can pull away.

They go to ‘comic book stores’ and stop on the edge of Times Square and look at all of the sounds and billboards, and halfway back to the Tower he hears something, stilling briefly on the sidewalk before he swiftly changes direction and she follows him down an alley, stopping with him a few feet in.

James crouches down, has to let go of her hand to grab the box.

When he stands back up with it in his arms, she quirks a brow at him but doesn’t say anything, and when they start heading back again, her wing brushes his, almost playful.

He looks down into the box, lips twitching a little.

\--

Steve’s steps slow as he nears the floor to ceiling windows. He makes himself pick them back up while he takes a breath, stretching his wings out before settling them again and heading for the door, keeping his eyes straight and turning left into the expanse of the room.

It’s been a couple weeks since Sam woke up, and Steve knows about the physical therapy. He’s proud of Sam. They just...haven’t been able to talk much.

Or rather, Sam hasn’t really wanted to talk to him. Not really.

And Steve’s been respecting that. But this is the first time Sam’s _asked_ to see him.

Sam looks up from the tablet in his hand and Steve keeps his steps even, takes the seat next to Sam’s bed and looks back. Waits. Sam looks down at his lap and sets the tablet he seems to have been playing games on aside, the sound muted.

It’s quiet.

“I blamed you, at first,” Sam says after a couple of minutes tense silence.

Steve nods a little, wings still. He deserves it. Deserves that.

“I knew it wasn’t your fault,” Sam continues, looking over at him, “I _know_ it isn’t. But I blamed you, and for that I’m sorry.” Steve shakes his head.

“Sam-” he starts, but stops when Sam shakes his own head, raising a hand. Steve sits back again and waits, mouth pinching.

“You know…” Sam says after a few moments, “Becoming a counselor, they teach you to deal with other people’s grief, make sure you know how to handle your own so you can handle theirs before you go into the practice. Guess it’s just…” he trails off for a moment, “Meeting something like this head on?” Steve watches him. Sam stares down at his lap, legs relaxed in front of him on the bed. He looks over at Steve again. “There’s no self-help book for that. And if there is?” he asks, “I don’t think it’d be much help. I gotta do this on my own.”

Steve forces himself to wait a moment before saying, “You’re not alone.”

Sam nods, eyes dropping down to his lap again. “Yeah,” he says, lips twitching up a little. He looks back up. “I’m starting to get that. I’m starting to figure out I’ve got...people, in this crazy ass tower, who want to help me.”

Steve nods, lips twitching, and tries to keep his wings still so he doesn’t make Sam uncomfortable.

It’s quiet again, but... _less_ this time.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Steve says firmly, sitting up straighter, “I know an apology doesn’t change anything.” Sam just looks at him, lets him speak. “But I’m sorry. I should’ve-...I should’ve done a lot of things, and I’m sorry I dragged you into this. That you got caught in the crossfire. It wasn’t your fight but you paid the price anyway.”

Sam looks at him and Steve’s wings shift. Sam’s eyes dart to them briefly and Steve forces them still.

“I made my decision when I decided to go with you to Germany,” Sam replies after a moment, “Made the decision before we got there to go all the way. Steve,” he adds and Steve looks back up from where his gaze had dropped, “Neither of us could predict this. Could any of _you_ predict an alien invasion?” His lips twitch up and Steve’s follow suit, just slightly, and he shakes his head a little.

Sam leans back against the pillows a bit with a small wince, and Steve’s expression sobers again.

“This isn’t your fault, man,” he says, softer, and the backs of Steve’s eyes sting a little, “This isn’t your fault.”

Steve drops his eyes for a minute before he makes himself look back up and meet Sam’s, keeps his thoughts to himself.

“And you know,” Sam says, “There’s people in this crazy ass tower that want to help _you, too_.”

Steve’s eyes sting a little more and he wants to shake his head, but he keeps himself still.

“I know,” Sam says anyway, like he can read Steve’s mind, “It’s going to take a while.”

Steve sighs a little, nods.

“Yeah,” Sam says, smiling like he knows, “Everything does.”

Steve finally feels like he can take a breath, even if he’s still working on feeling like he _deserves_ it.

\--

He walks into his apartment an hour later, shakes his wings out as he gets the door closed and stands there for a moment, closing his eyes.

He doesn’t deserve a friend like Sam, he really doesn’t.

He hears something and opens his eyes, lowers his head and tilts it a little to the side when he hears it again, walking forward and following the sound. It- _they_ get louder the further he moves into the living the room. It sounds like-

He spots James halfway between the kitchen and the wall of windows overlooking the city, on the right by the end of the hall and Steve blinks, stepping past the kitchen and stopping, wings flaring.

“James?” he asks, and James looks up.

There’s a gray kitten on his shoulder, paws swatting at his hanging bangs, three in his lap playing with his metal fingers, black, orange, and calico, what seems to be the mother laying in front of his crossed legs, also calico, and one black kitten-

 _Trip_ and _tumbling_ into his feathers.

There’s a dirty box set to the side that looks like it’s been sitting in an alley for days that says ‘ _Free_ ’ in running, dark green ink.

“You-” Steve stops, not sure how to react.

James just looks up at him.

“They needed a home,” he says simply, “You gave me one. I wanted to give them one.”

Steve blinks, breath catching, and then slowly walks over, carefully taking a seat foot away. The mother cat watches him, but lets him stay where he is. The tumbling kitten aims for his wings next and Steve smiles, small but real.

“How are you?” James asks quietly after a few minutes, and Steve reaches over, wiggles a finger at the kitten swatting at his feathers and smiles a little again when it swats both paws at him.

“I don’t know yet,” Steve replies, just as quiet, “I think I’ll be okay. Eventually.” He looks up and James looks back. “You both help,” he says, “You and Bucky.” James’ lips curve up a little and he stretches a wing forward, folding it gently around Steve’s.

Steve smiles a little more, curving his own around the inside of James’ in return.

“What do you say we give these little guys a bath?” Steve asks after a minute, and James looks back down, wiggling his metal fingers at the three kittens starting to wander before reaching over with his flesh hand, holding a few fingers out to the mother, letting her sniff it and decide. He strokes his fingers gently over her head when she deems him agreeable.

“I’ve never bathed cats before,” James says, and Steve smiles, gently scooping up the one getting lost in his feathers stooped against the floor.

“Follow me,” he says, standing up, “I’ll show you how.”

James scoops the three kittens up and makes sure the one on his shoulder is balanced when he rises and follows Steve to the bathroom, the mother walking a little behind them and keeping them all in her sights.

They fill the huge tub up with a couple inches of water and wash away the grime off of the squirming, mewling kittens, and after, while they’re gently scrubbing each of them with a towel, Steve watches the dirty water swirl down the drain, feeling a little better about...

 _Everything_.


	38. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for sex.

“Alright. Now lean to the left, right, adjusting weight distributionnnn, aaaaaaand,” Tony draws out, looking down at his tablet, “Calibration finished.” He steps back a step, tilting his head to the side while he looks. “How do they feel?”

Sam stares to his left, eyes wide, flexes his fingers and watches the transparent feathers fan with a metallic _shng_.

“Almost as light as my- my last ones,” Sam gets out, looking to the right and raising his right hand a little. The wing stretches up higher.

“They’re not neurologically synced. Yet,” Tony says, coming in closer and circling him, looking over everything, “This is just the first prototype. Everything else is fine?”

“Yeah,” Sam says immediately, then stops to really think about it, “It’s a little heavy down the back center, digging in a little,” he expands, “But they move smoothly and the weight is great.” He raises his arms out back behind him and the wings fan out backwards, light glinting off cool metal. “Color’s not right,” he comments, hears Tony make a _hum_.

“Wasn’t sure if you wanted the same colors as before,” he replies, looking up from his tablet and adjusting something on one of the surrounding holoscreens, whose funnel Sam is standing in the center of, “But noted. Want a different color?”

“Umm…” Sam trails off, bringing an arm forward and looking at the following wing, “How about...red?” he asks, looking up.

Stark nods, typing something quick on his tablet before looking up again. “Wanna take’em for a spin?” he asks, smirking.

Sam slowly grins back, quickly turning for the door.

“Is the gym free?”

\--

“I can’t believe he has all these cats,” Bucky says.

Steve looks up from where he’s playing with the orange one and grins a little.

“No,” Bucky corrects after a moment, raising his eyebrows as he stares down at them all, “I can believe it.” The gray one makes a dash for one of his dangling feathers and Bucky raises his wings higher at the last moment, both of them watching the kitten dive, tumble, and roll. Bucky’s lips curve up and Steve smiles. “What is he going to do with them all?” Bucky asks, looking up.

“I don’t know,” Steve replies, rubbing his fingers down the length of a black one and getting a very high pitched _mew_ in return, “He said he wanted to give them a home. Maybe he’ll keep them?” he asks. Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Well,” he says, “We live in a fancy ass tower now. Definitely have the _room_ for it,” he finishes the latter in a half mumble, lowering one of his wings a little to skirt the tip of a feather across the gray kitten’s nose. It sneezes.

“True,” Steve returns, glancing around the room before looking down and watching the black kitten frolick off and tackle the calico. He hears Bucky shift and looks up to find Bucky on his hands and knees in front of him.

“Hey, there,” he says with a small smirk. Bucky smirks back before leaning in and their lips meet, Steve’s eyes falling shut. Bucky changes the angle to make it deeper while he pushes forward and Steve slowly lowers himself back, feels Bucky crawl over him before settling his hips down onto his lap.

“Buck,” Steve says between kisses. Bucky _hums_ back and Steve tries again, “ _Buck_.”

“What,” Bucky says, trailing the kisses down Steve’s jaw to his neck. Steve’s wings shift a little and he settles his hands on the tops of Bucky’s thighs.

“We’re not doing this in front of the children,” Steve half jokes. Bucky snorts then sits up sharply with a surprised sound.

They both look over and watch the gray kitten totter off with a white feather sticking out both sides of its mouth.

“Heathen!” Bucky calls after it.

Steve snorts a laugh at Bucky’s frown.

Steve feels moving weights on his feathers and looks, fluttering his wings and watching the kittens gently roll off with a few _mew_ s. Bucky sighs.

“ _Fine_ ,” he says, leaning back down to give Steve a quick kiss, that turns into a longer one, then a _longer_ one-

Steve whacks him gently with a wing and Bucky huffs, sitting back up.

“ _Fine_ ,” he repeats, rises to his feet and then offers down a hand - his right, Steve notices.

He’s been noticing that a lot more, recently, now that he and Bucky are...closer.

Steve takes it and lets Bucky pull him to his feet.

“I actually need to go see Stark,” Bucky says with an unimpressed look, and leans in to kiss Steve again. Steve makes sure this one stays short, hard as it is. “I’ll see you later?” Bucky asks when Steve pulls back.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, returns the kiss Bucky leans in to give him _again_ and then watches him go with a smile.

When the door’s closed, Steve glances around at the playing kittens then looks to the mother, who looks back.

“Think I’ll go find James,” he says, “You good here?”

She just stares at him for a minute before laying her head down on the wood floor and Steve takes that as an affirmative, and heads for the door, then the elevator.

“ _JARVIS?_ ” he asks as the doors slide closed.

“ _James is currently sparring in Gym One with Ms. Romanoff_ ,” JARVIS replies, and when the doors open next after the elevator comes to a stop, Steve heads for the room.

He stops outside the door, like he had the last time James and Natasha were in the gym together, and can’t help staring.

They’re not doing ballet this time, but it’s...just as mesmerizing.

They both still move quick, almost impossibly fast, and seamlessly. As soon as one finishes a move another is already started, trading back and forth and back and forth like a dance. It’s beautiful, for fighting, maybe _because_ of it, because of _them_.

They move like liquid fire and ice, like steel beams falling from the top of a building.

Something tugs at Steve.

He’s never sparred with James before.

Steve opens the door and walks in.

\--

As soon as Bucky opens the door, he gets an earful of: “ _AWWW YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH!_ ” and ducks as _Sam_ zooms by over his head, standing back up and staring after him. He walks over to Stark who’s got his arms crossed and is grinning proudly up at Sam, who does another quick lap around the room, arms splayed out under the wings on each side.

Bucky stands there watching and after a minute, can feel Stark’s eyes on him.

“Alright,” Bucky allows, “I’m impressed.” He can practically _feel_ the smugness.

“Knew you would be,” Stark replies, and yup, there it is, he can hear it.

“You added rockets,” Bucky says after another minute and another of Sam’s, “ _YEEEEEAH_ ”s with a “ _WOOHOOOOOO!_ ” Stark makes an offended noise in the back of his throat.

“I added _repulsors_ ,” he corrects, “Get your terms right, Barnes.”

Bucky snorts and watches Sam.

He really _is_ impressed, not that he’ll let Stark know how _much_.

“I’m glad you could do this for him,” he says, honestly, looking over at Stark.

Stark looks back, giving a sharp nod before looking back at Wilson.

Bucky looks back, too, a thought occurring to him that he thinks he’ll bring up later.

“Alright!” Stark calls out a few minutes later, “Wilson! Reel it in for calibration!”

Sam’s pace slows and Bucky watches them work, clenching and unclenching his left hand into a fist.

\--

The give and take finally _gives_ and Natasha gets James pinned, forearm to his throat and one wing pinning his while her other blocks _his_ other wing, knee pressed to his chest. Steve can hear them both panting.

She says something to James in Russian before standing up, and James frowns a little at her before following, replying back something that makes her smirk.

“Still hate losing,” she says louder in English, looking over at Steve as she heads for the bench against the wall Steve’s standing next to.

“Not the only one,” he hears James comment quietly. Natasha flicks a wing slightly in James’ direction and Steve smiles a little, watches her get a bottle of water open and take a long swallow. She says something in Russian again and James goes still.

“Why don’t you give it a try, Rogers,” she calls over, looking at him while she takes another drink. Steve looks between them for a moment before his eyes settle on James, who’s sending a small look towards Natasha’s back. Not quite a glare, but it’s close.

“I don’t want to…” Steve trails off, unsure of how to say ‘ _I don’t want to intrude even though it’s just sparring because it doesn’t seem like just sparring_ ’. He sees Natasha’s lips curve up a little and thinks she gets it, anyway.

“Try it,” she encourages, and Steve bites the inside of his cheek a little and looks to James, who looks from Natasha to him.

James raises a wing slightly in question and Steve nods, walking over towards him.

“Okay,” Steve decides, and gets into position.

\--

“Oookaaay,” Tony draws out, tapping one more thing on his tablet before looking over to and spinning a hologram of detailed wirework, “You got the specs, JARVIS?” he asks, not looking up.

“ _I do, Sir_ ,” JARVIS replies, and Tony nods before waving a hand and clearing the holograms, looking over at Sam.

“Alright,” he starts, “Head back up to medical, get some rest. We’ll reconvene there tomorrow and I’ll get started on the prototype.” The wings sink a little as Sam’s shoulders slump a bit and Tony grimaces a little. “I know I’m the last person who should be saying it, but you will need some sleep and recoop time. Besides, you said it was digging?” Sam nods. “Yeah. I need to take a look at that and see what I can do about it. The sooner I do that, the sooner we can really get things up and running.” Sam sighs but nods, expression going serious.

He moves in close and Tony’s wings flare a little, then Sam wraps his arms around Tony quick like Tony’s about to fly away before he can and Tony’s wings _flare_ , eyes widening and arms raised.

“ _ **Thank you**_ ,” Sam says, honest and raw, and Tony pats his arm awkwardly with his free hand.

Bucky looks over at the wall and down at the floor. Isn’t his reflection interesting? It’s _fascinatin’_.

“ _Yup_ ,” Tony replies stiltedly, “No problem. Just doing what I can.” He pats Sam’s arm a few more times before Sam releases him, turning to Bucky.

Bucky looks back, standing up a little straighter.

“Thank you,” Sam says.

Bucky’s wings flare and he opens his mouth-

“I know you tried,” Sam says before he can get anything out, and Bucky closes his mouth, gritting his teeth. Sam smiles, small but honest. “I remember. Thank you.”

Bucky swallows his guilt and nods. Sam nods back and then gives one to Stark before turning and exiting the room.

Bucky stares at the door for a minute. Stark clears his throat.

Bucky drags his eyes back to him.

“I’m assuming you didn’t come all the way down here just to see what we were up to,” Stark says, raising his eyebrows a bit.

“No,” Bucky agrees, turning his full attention back to Stark, “I need to talk to you about Hydra.” Stark raises a wing in question.

\--

The first thing Steve learns, or _re_ -learns, is that James is _fast_. For all intents and purposes, he should be heavier than Steve-

James _slams_ down with an elbow and he _is_ heavier than Steve, with the arm. He’s not small by any means, but he _is_ a little smaller than Steve and he’s just-

It seems like his training, while focused on _everything_ , has had an emphasis on _speed_ , because Steve _can’t seem to **catch** him_.

Steve beats his wings once and pushes himself forward, gets a fist to collide into James’ side but James is already spinning and Steve barely avoids a kick to his diaphragm.

It’s... _fun_ though.

James slashes down with a wing and Steve blocks it with one of his own, throwing a punch that James blocks and then a kick that James blocks, too-

It’s-

James gets in close, foot between his own and Steve seamlessly steps one of his back to compensate, moving his other wing-

It’s... _intimate_. It-

Steve lunges forward and James beats his wings quickly to push himself back, launching up into the room and Steve takes off after him-

It’s only taken them around a minute to get used to each other. Now it’s-

 _Seamless_ -

Oh.

Steve’s eyes widen a little and he throws a punch, barely gets James in the side again and is too caught up in his thoughts to block the kick, sent back to the ground, back colliding with the floor and air _whumphing_ out of his lungs.

Oh.

Steve blinks his eyes open, watches James descend like some dark angel out of heaven.

 _Oh_.

James lands and holds his hand out. Steve glances to Natasha, whose eyes are already on him, before looking back up and taking it, letting James pull him up.

“Oh,” Steve says, and James blinks, frowning a little, “You and Nat.” James freezes, their hands still locked together.

Steve studies James and James just stares a little blankly back like he’s been caught before his eyes drop to the floor, fingertips curling briefly against the inside of Steve’s wrist before he quickly lets go. Steve blinks at that, looking down at his own hand for a moment before looking back up.

“I was going to tell you,” James says quietly, eyes still on the floor. Steve barely catches the sound of the door closing softly but keeps his eyes on James, heart beating a little quick in his chest.

“You...love her?” Steve hazards, because sparring with James is like...a lot like falling in love, or realizing you’re in it.

After feeling each other out, he and James moved perfectly. Just like James had with Natasha.

Steve still hasn’t asked, about their past, but he’s starting to put together a bigger picture with the small things he’s slowly learned since finding out they had one.

James finally looks up at him, and he doesn’t need to answer for Steve to know. Even if what’s in James’ eyes looks more complicated than Steve can figure out just from looking, the underlying emotion is the same.

It’s quiet for a minute, just the sound of them breathing and Steve trying to settle his heart.

It’s strange. He wanted to be with Bucky, too, so this shouldn’t be…

He just wasn’t expecting _James_ to want someone else, too.

“Are you angry?” James asks, quieter, eyes searching his, “Steve.”

Steve blinks, shaking his wings out a little and his head with them.

“No,” he answers, “No. I’m just...surprised, I guess, even though I...feel like I shouldn’t be.”

James looks at him for a long moment before offering his hand out, and Steve looks down at it before looking back up, raising a wing a little.

“I will explain,” James elaborates quietly, but Steve shakes his head a little. He _wants_ to know, but it’s not- James’ expression pinches and the hand he’s holding out falters.

“It’s not my business,” Steve rushes to explain, and James frowns a little, “It’s...it’s yours and Natasha’s.” James looks at him for a moment.

“Someone told me,” he starts, “When you wanted to be with someone else, too, that my thoughts mattered.” Steve’s breath catches a little and his wings still. James looks at him a little softer. “Yours do, too,” he finishes, raising his offered hand again, higher.

Steve looks at him for a minute before slowly taking it and letting James lead him out of the gym.

\--

They end up on the roof, overlooking the city, the sky starting to go pink and orange as the sun slowly sinks behind the skyscrapers.

The wind slides between the scarce spaces in his feathers and he shudders a little at the sensation.

“I met Natalia when she was very small,” James says quietly, softly, after a few minutes. Steve looks over to him. James stares out at the city. “I was supposed to kill her, but I could not,” he continues, and Steve sucks in a breath, taking a step closer to the divide around the roof’s perimeter and gripping it a little with a hand. The cool metal sends goosebumps up his arm. “She followed me in the snow, to my master, and I did not see her again for a very long time.” Steve’s fingers curl around the metal at ‘master’, at picturing James with a muzzle on again and a young Natasha in front of Hydra, or whoever had been James’...’ _master_ ’ at the time.

Steve wants to burn them _all_.

“When I met her next,” James continues, a little stronger, “She was seventeen, and I was told to train her. She was very...challenging,” he says with a small curve to his lips, “She stood out from the others. The only one to impress me with her skill, her cunning, her speed and strength. I…” James trails off, smile disappearing and wings shifting slightly. “I...felt,” he settles on, sounding a little awed and like he’s placing something, “I had not _felt_ before, like that. She reached me, inside,” he says, looking over at Steve, dying light lighting him up in warm hues and turning him warmer than Steve knows he still is sometimes.

Steve’s heart hurts a little, hearing this, but not like he thought it would.

He’s glad Natasha found James, if just for that.

“She made me feel more human, when I felt like...nothing,” James finishes, like it’s fact.

Steve wants to move closer, wrap him in his arms and wings, but wills himself still and listens.

James looks back out at the city, after a moment.

“We were sent on missions together when she was a little older,” he continues, “And I did not know what to call it then, even though she teased me about it, once.” He stops for a moment, eyes a little far away. “Being with you, I understand now what I did not then,” he says, looking over at Steve again with a small, soft smile.

Steve’s lips slowly curve up to return it, and he relaxes a little when James’ wing gently brushes his. He didn’t realize he’d gotten tense.

“I love her, still,” James says softly, looking at Steve, and Steve nods. James looks at him for a minute longer before turning to him, stepping in closer and reaching a hand up to cup Steve’s cheek.

Steve lets his eyes slip closed, leaning into it while his wings move forward, just enough to brush against James’ like a statue coming to life, James’ touch breaking the spell and letting him move.

“But do not think I do not love you,” James adds, quieter, and Steve opens his eyes to look at him. He nods a little.

James leans up slightly and Steve lowers his head an inch, melting into the kiss with a soft _sigh_ through his nose, warming up from the inside out faster and warmer than the dying light on his skin painting them gold.

“I know,” Steve whispers when they pull apart a little, opening his eyes to look at him again, “I know.”

James studies him before nodding slightly, pressing their foreheads together.

They stay like that for a while, long enough that the sky is going dark blue above their heads and when Steve glances up, he can see the stars.

He looks back to James. Would rather look at him, anyway.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, and James raises his head slightly. Steve nods, looking down before looking back up at him, curving his wings forward a little more. “It’s...hard, but it’s not,” he adds, frowning a little while he tries to figure out how to word it. “I don’t...I feel like if I let go of any part of you, I’ll lose _all_ of you,” he says after a minute, and James shakes his head a little. Steve smiles softly and nods, foreheads rubbing briefly. “I know. That’s not true,” he says quietly, “And I never had all of you to begin with, anyway. I don’t think either of us did of each other.” James strokes his cheek gently with a thumb and Steve closes his eyes, focusing on it.

“Can I tell you something selfish?” he whispers after a minute of listening to the city, of James breathing. The thumb doesn’t stop and James doesn’t say anything, just waits. Steve opens his eyes, makes sure to find James’. “I love you the most,” he confesses, and James’ thumb stills, eyes widening slightly. “You don’t have to tell me-”

“I love you most, too,” James cuts him off quietly, and Steve loses the words, lets them float away on the air, mouth hanging open slightly and wings flared. “I love Natalia,” James continues, looking up at him, “But I would never be with her again if that is what you wanted.”

“I’d never want you to do that,” Steve replies, and James’ lips curve up a little like he knows.

“You are the most important to me,” James states quietly, like it’s that simple. Steve blinks, the backs of his eyes stinging.

Steve presses their lips together again and James wraps an arm around the back of his neck, and one around his waist, pulling him closer. Steve lets him, gets an arm around James’ waist and a set of fingers in James’ hair, wings wrapping around James’ when James slides his own under Steve’s.

“You…” Steve trails off after they pull their faces away a little, foreheads resting together again, “Me, too.” James’ lips curve up again and their lips meet again, and Steve lets his eyes fall closed.

He loves Bucky, more than almost anything, but he can’t be without James.

Not anymore.

\--

“So…” Tony trails off, looking over at him, “What is it? Worried they’ll resurface?”

Bucky stops next to him, crossing his arms with a twitch of his wings.

“I _knew_ Red Skull,” Bucky starts, frowning at his reflection in the glass, “What happened?” he looks over at Tony, “That wasn’t it.” Tony frowns a little, shifting his eyes back to the city.

“So...what, he had backup somewhere? He didn’t make any calls to or from the Tower,” Tony says after a minute, crossing his own arms and looking back over again.

“If it’s not that, then it’s something else,” Bucky replies, “He was after the scepter, but for what reason?”

“Power’s not enough?” Stark asks, raising an eyebrow and pursing his lips like he’s already thinking ahead of that.

“No,” Bucky shakes his head, “He wanted power for something, and if it was for something then there was more to his plan than what we saw.”

Tony’s quiet for a moment.

“You talk to Rogers about this?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Bucky sighs, “Wanted to bring it up to you first. See if you learned anything you haven’t told us yet.”

“Your faith in me leaves me speechless,” Tony replies dryly. Bucky sends him a _look_ and Tony shrugs his wings. “The answer is no,” he continues, and Bucky’s wings shift a little, “I haven’t found anything. And Hydra’s been quiet again. Which, you know, never a good sign. But I didn’t _miss_ anything,” he adds, both sounding _and_ looking frustrated.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “Howard said something like that, too.” Tony’s expression evens out a bit. “The one time he said that, it was about a knife going through Steve’s body armor,” Bucky continues, “It held up against one stab, sure, but the second one went right through.”

It’s silent for a minute.

“I’ll run another full sweep,” Tony says, and then turns and leaves.

Bucky watches his reflection go and when the door closes, he sighs quietly.

“At least he’s not as stubborn as _you_ were,” Bucky mumbles to his own reflection, thinks of Howard and his cocky smirk and focuses his eyes to look out at the city instead.

\--

Steve’s taking the elevator back to his floor when it stops two floors down from where James left to go shoot with Clint in the shooting range, and Natasha turns out to be on the other side of the doors. She steps in without a sound and the elevator doors seal shut again, the elevator continuing its descent.

Neither of them speak, both staring straight ahead.

Steve reaches a wing over after a moment to gently brush it against hers. He sees her lips twitch up and then the elevator is slowing at the first communal floor. The doors slide open.

She steps out but finally looks over at him as she does, and Steve can’t help smiling, because he’s... _glad_. Glad she was there for Bucky and James, even though he wishes neither of them had to go through what it cost them.

And he’s... _okay_ , with them and what they have. Not great, it will take some getting used to because part of him, illogical as it is, still thinks Nat will end up taking James _away_ from him, even if unintentionally.

But the rest of him _knows_ James, and knows he has no reason to be insecure because Steve _is_ secure in what they have, or getting there. He knows James wouldn’t just up and leave him, and he knows James won’t _stop_ loving him just because he _also_ loves Natasha.

Just like Steve won’t stop loving James just because he also loves Bucky.

Natasha turns to look at him for a moment, lips curving up a little with a small nod, and Steve returns it, then watches her bright feathers retreat as the doors slide closed.

\--

When the elevator stops on his floor, he steps out, only to stop again when his eyes catch on white.

“Bucky,” he says, and Bucky pushes up off the wall, expression serious. Steve’s wings stiffen. “What is it?”

“Red Skull,” Bucky replies, and Steve stands straighter, “I think there’s more to it than what happened. I think we cut his plans short, but-”

“But that’s never been the whole plan,” Steve finishes for him, “Not for him.” Bucky nods, crossing his arms, muscles stretching taut across his chest, and Steve drops his eyes to the floor, thinking (and _not_ about the white tank top Bucky’s wearing, pushes that thought aside). “I didn’t learn anything from him, aside from what I already knew,” Steve says after a minute, looking back up. Bucky’s mouth pinches. “If there’s anything more to it, and knowing him, there is, we’re going to have to look for it the long way.”

Bucky nods.

“Stark’s running another full sweep of the Tower,” Bucky says, a wing flicking slightly, an old habit when he’s done something he’s not proud of. Steve keeps the frown off his face, but nods. “He’s still on the lookout for Hydra,” Bucky continues, quieter, graver, “But it’s silent again.” Steve sighs, running a hand back through his hair, watches Bucky’s eyes follow the movement.

Steve keeps his wings still.

“We’ll do what we can from here,” he decides, letting his hand drop back to his side, “Convene with the others tomorrow and start going over strategy.” Bucky nods, wings giving a small twitch, and Steve swallows, his own doing the same, tension building in the space of the hallway.

Bucky stares at him, adam’s apple bobbing on a swallow, and Steve stares back, wings giving another twitch like Bucky’s do almost at the same time.

Bucky suddenly rushes forward and Steve breaks free from his own stillness, meets Bucky in the middle and ends up with his back pushed against a wall, Bucky’s mouth eager and frantic on his and Bucky’s hands on him, cupping the side of his neck and grabbing at his shoulder, wings pushing against his. Steve pulls Bucky’s hips close and then slides his hands up, under the edge of Bucky’s tank top and shudders a little at the low sound Bucky makes in his throat when his skin finally meets Bucky’s, warm, so warm. Bucky’s body does a _roll_ and it presses their chests, stomachs, and hips together in a slow wave and Steve moans quietly against Bucky’s mouth, his own hips jerking up to meet Bucky’s. Bucky _groans_ , pushes his tongue to Steve’s mouth and Steve parts his lips, gets his fingers in Bucky’s hair and-

He pauses briefly and so does Bucky, Bucky pulling his face back just enough to speak.

“Yeah,” he almost whispers, breath ghosting across Steve’s lips and smirking a little, “It’s short.” Steve feels his face heat.

“Sorry,” he replies, just as quiet, and Bucky shakes his head a little, leaning in to kiss him again, this time getting his tongue in Steve’s mouth to tangle theirs together. Steve sighs through his nose and tugs at the short, spiky strands before pulling his face back again, turns his head a little to the side when Bucky’s lips try to follow his, regardless of Bucky’s disappointed groan. “We can’t do this in the hall,” he says quietly.

“Do I look like I care?” Bucky asks, pressing his mouth to Steve’s jaw when Steve avoids his lips again. Steve’s eyes fall closed with a soft sound and a sigh, wings twitching against the firm pressure of Bucky’s.

“You look like you want to fuck me five ways from Sunday,” Steve replies, and Bucky groans against his skin, wings pressing his more firmly to the wall.

Steve gives his hair a sharper tug and Bucky pulls his head back, looking around. He quirks a brow and nods his head towards the apartment, wing pulling back a little to raise slightly.

Steve looks over at the door before looking back with a small shake of his head, and Bucky’s expression sobers a little.

“Right,” he says, looking around in thought.

Even if James is comfortable with them being together, too, Steve doesn’t just...want to _surprise_ him by him accidentally walking in on them in _bed_.

Both of Bucky’s wings raise a little after a moment of looking around and thinking and he takes Steve’s hand, pulling him away from the wall and towards the elevator.

“Where are we going?” Steve asks, letting himself be led away.

Bucky pulls him inside and the elevator doors slide closed. A few floors up from it, Bucky hits the emergency stop and the elevator jolts slightly as it stops.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, and Bucky turns to him with a smirk. Steve’s wings flare. “We are not doing this in an elevator,” Steve frowns, but Bucky just moves closer, smirk widening when Steve steps back and his back eventually hits another wall.

“What happened to that kid from Brooklyn who was always doing things he shouldn’t?” Bucky asks, but they _both_ know Steve still does _plenty_ of things he shouldn’t-

Steve moves quick, gets his hands around Bucky’s waist and lifts, flips their positions and pushes _Bucky’s_ back against the wall, moving in close and pinning him in. Bucky’s eyes widen and his wings flare, ends almost touching the sides of the elevator while his legs automatically wrap around Steve’s waist.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Bucky says, smirking slowly, then leans his head forward, Steve meeting him and their mouths collide again, Bucky’s legs tightening around his waist and fingers getting into his hair. They _tug_ , and Steve _groans_ low in his throat, feels Bucky’s lips lift against his in a wider smirk.

“Knew you liked gettin’ hit,” Bucky says between kisses, eyes opening again and looking at him. Steve just manages to roll his own before Bucky’s tongue is in his mouth again and Steve lets it fall to the wayside for now, eyes closing while he grinds their hips together after his hands shift to Bucky’s, gripping tightly. Bucky’s left hand grips the back of his neck and gives it a squeeze before wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders and holding on.

Bucky groans heavily and tries to roll his hips back, wings fluttering a little with soft _thumps_ against the elevator wall. Steve’s own give a jerk before spreading and curving forward, pushing into Bucky’s and slotting their feathers together with a long moan while he rolls his hips. Bucky moans back while his wings give a small twitch before relenting, letting Steve’s push them firmly to the wall while he grinds back, the hard length of him rubbing firmly against Steve’s through their jeans. Steve growls a little in frustration and feels Bucky shudder. It’s not _enough_.

Bucky must have the same idea because he reaches down between them without breaking the kiss and somehow manages to get Steve’s jeans unbuttoned and unzipped with one hand, warm fingers quickly sliding down between his skin and the band of his boxers to wrap around his cock. Steve groans again into his mouth and presses in closer while Bucky’s fingers wrap around him and stroke, and Steve’s hips buck up into it while he pants through his nose.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” Bucky curses between kisses, rubbing his thumb over the head and sending Steve’s eyes back into his skull beneath his eyelids with a full body shudder, “Been wanting to get my hands on you for _years_.”

“ _I couldn’t tell_ ,” Steve manages back, and Bucky rubs his thumb brutally torturous against the nerves below the head in response and Steve feels his cock leak with a heavy moan. He lets go of Bucky’s hips with a hand and reaches for Bucky’s pants, fumbles for a minute and has to break the kiss to look. Bucky goes for his neck, sucks and licks kisses up and down the length of the side of it and Steve’s eyes fall shut for a moment while he pauses before he forces them back open, focusing on Bucky’s jeans again. “ _Not helping_ ,” he mumbles, finally getting the button open.

“You want me to _stop?_ ” Bucky asks, a smirk in his voice that Steve can feel against his skin, and gives up when the zipper’s mostly down to slip his hand inside, feathers flaring when he doesn’t find any boxers _or_ underwear. Steve pulls his head back to look at him.

Bucky just smirks back and Steve _groans_ , gets his mouth back on Bucky’s, messy and intent, and wraps his fingers around Bucky’s cock, giving it a pull.

Bucky’s hips jerk up into it with a low moan and his hand starts moving on Steve’s cock, their paces eventually matching up while they pant into each other’s mouths.

Steve lowers Bucky to the ground after a minute or two and Bucky stumbles a little when he gets his feet on the floor, gets his balance back under control and pulls Steve’s cock out of his pants at the same time Steve pulls out Bucky’s, both of them breaking the kiss to look down as they grip their cocks together, fingers lacing, and start stroking, precum sliding down their fingers from both.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes, and Steve moans in agreement, leans his head forward to get his mouth on the base of Bucky’s neck and tightens his grip on their cocks while he _sucks_ , a shuddering rippling through Bucky’s body and echoing in Steve’s. “ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky moans, head falling back with a _thud_ against the elevator wall while picking up the pace of their hands, hips starting to rock up into it. Steve follows suit while he digs his other fingers into the skin of Bucky’s hip, rocking his own hips and fucking up into both their grips, moaning against Bucky's skin. He bites down and sucks harder while Bucky’s head turns towards him, breaths panting near his ear.

The feel of their cocks rubbing together, slick with precum and rough without where they’re pressed together sends a shudder down Steve’s spine and out through his wings, Bucky’s moans near his ear making him press in further. He pulls his mouth off of Bucky’s neck and lets go of Bucky’s hip to grip the side of his neck, pressing their foreheads together while he stares into Bucky’s half lidded eyes.

“Want you to fuck me,” Steve murmurs between moans, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s mouth and swallowing Bucky’s responding one, “Want to fuck you.”

“Shit,” Bucky curses, pressing their faces closer and delving his tongue into Steve’s mouth for a minute, “The fuckin’ _mouth_ on you,” he gets out, biting down on Steve’s lower lip and making him groan. “Want to,” Bucky pants quietly, “Want to fuck you so hard you scream my _name_.” Steve _groans_ again and drags his hand down, gets it up under Bucky’s tank top and drags the material up and rakes his nails down Bucky’s chest. His nails catch Bucky’s nipple and Bucky’s body gives a full _jerk_ with a sharp _gasp_ and Steve feels him come, wings jolting against Steve’s and cum shooting up some of Steve’s t-shirt, coating their hands.

Steve groans, at the look on Bucky’s face and how slick it makes them and strokes faster, strokes Bucky through it and gives in to the heat building quick at the base of his spine, pressing his forehead roughly to the wall next to Bucky’s head and screwing his eyes shut when he comes, choking out a groan while his wings give a sharp jerk against Bucky’s and his own come streaks up his shirt and some of Bucky’s, Bucky’s stomach.

He slows his hands with Bucky’s and just tries to _breathe_ , panting heavily and chest brushing Bucky’s on each ragged inhale.

“Fuck,” he gets out after a few minutes. He hears Bucky snort a laugh.

“That’s what I keep saying,” he jokes. Steve snorts and pulls back to look at him, easing up the pressure of his wings and leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. Bucky stares back at him, eyes softening a little before he closes them.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t really need to.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs softly. Steve watches his lips curl up and his eyes open again to look up at him.

“ _Steve, Bucky_ ,” JARVIS says after a moment, and Steve’s wings jolt, eyes darting up with Bucky’s. “ _Pardon my interruption_ ,” JARVIS continues, “ _But I’m afraid Mr. Banner is in need of the elevator_.”

Bucky snorts a laugh that just gets louder and louder, body shaking with it, and Steve joins in, leaning against him and resting his cheek on Bucky’s shoulder.

He feels...good. He feels good.

They get off the elevator at Bucky’s floor giggling like schoolboys and get washed up in the shower.

Sharon walks in on them when they’ve spent a little longer than they should, hands finding skin and wings, tugging on feathers and grinding slick and wet against hips, and Steve blushes so hard he’s sure he’s the color of the red on his uniform while Sharon’s eyes go so wide he actually gets concerned for a moment and she turns right back around.

He can hear her laughing in surprise while she leaves the bedroom and she calls back, “ _Put a sock on the door next time, boys!_ ” Steve sends a wing sharply into Bucky, mortified, when Steve finally realizes Bucky’s doubled over and shaking, laughing so hard he’s only making dying, _wheezing_ noises and _gasps_.

When Bucky stands back up, he’s got tears down his cheeks and he laughs again while wiping at them with a hand when Steve shoves him with a wing again, laughter echoing off of the walls and making Steve’s lips twitch up despite himself.

 _Yeah_ , Steve thinks, _He feels **good**_.

\--

“We must be missing something,” Tony mumbles, stepping out of the elevator and heading down the hall.

“ _Sir_ ,” JARVIS says from all over, “ _There has been a brief power surge in the vault_.” Tony’s steps stops and his wings flare. He turns right back around and runs back for the elevator. “ _There appears to be a low level transmission wave emanating from the vault_.”

“Why didn’t you pick it up _earlier?_ ” Tony demands, tapping an impatient bare foot while the elevator descends. The doors open and he rushes out, heading straight for the vault.

“ _Sir_ ,” JARVIS replies, sounding _mildly_ put upon, “ _The transmission was most likely too low to come up on my sensors. If you had upgraded the security measures as you had been **intending**_ -” Tony can practically _hear_ _the bold_.

“I’ll do it as soon as we find out what the _hell_ is-” he skids to a stop, eyes catching on the blue glow of the scepter. “ _Shit_ ,” he curses, “Block all transmissions!” The scepter abruptly stops glowing and Tony runs over to it, slowing to a stop and bending down, looking up and down the length of it, turning to check the other side.

He spots an irregularity towards the stone at the top and reaches forward, careful not to touch the stone, and pulls-

It doesn’t move.

He pulls harder and finally pries it off.

He holds it up closer to his face.

“ _It would appear to be a small transmitter_ ,” JARVIS observes. Tony frowns

“How much you want to bet it transmits to Hydra,” he says.

“ _It is not a bet I would be willing to take,_ ” JARVIS replies, “ _As I would surely lose_.” Tony glances back at the scepter before lowering the transmitter and sighing.

“Ready security upgrades,” he orders, turning back to the entrance of the room, “Run a full sweep on the scepter. I’m going to compile everything before I call an Avengers meeting.”

“ _Very well, Sir_ ,” JARVIS replies, and Tony heads for the elevator, wings twitching.

“I’m starting to hate Hydra just about as much as _Steve_ does,” he mutters darkly, stepping into the elevator and holding up the transmitter again while the doors slide closed, “They’re like a damn cockroach infestation that just won’t go away and make your life hell in the meantime.”

“ _Might I suggest a house cleaning, Sir_ ,” JARVIS says, and Tony’s wings give a twitch.

“I’m thinking fire,” Tony replies, stepping out into his lab when the doors open again, “I’m thinking fire and a lot of explosions.”

“ _Very good, Sir_ ,” JARVIS says, and Tony gets to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you saw any typos, please let me know. I tried skimming through but I didn't see any right off the bat and I've looked over most of this chapter more times than I care to think about so I can't really just straight up _read through it_ again right now.  
>  Thank you.


	39. Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to keep than I thought, maybe I just wanna be yours, I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I know it's been a while, I'm sorry about that. I started classes and decided to change my major to the one I probably should've just gone into in the first place and I can't pull _out_ of the classes because I'll have to pay back the financial aid so I've been stuck in them and stressed and job hunting and today's been super hectic. But Kay beta'd this chapter today, too, and posting it will also make me feel better, and it's super cute, so this helps everyone all around I think. XD  <3
> 
> Also, I am...going to do something terrible, next chapter or the chapter after, so what I'm probably going to do is write two chapters so it's not a cliffhanger of pain so that might take me a little bit to get both done. But it's for the sake of all of our emotions, I promise. I almost couldn't/ _can't_ bring myself to do what my brain came up with but I'm...I'm gonna do it. And I won't leave you all cliffhanging in misery, so I'll write the chapter it happens in _and_ the following one and post them both up at the same time.
> 
> Don't worry though, there will be fluff and happy endings. This story won't end sad, damn it, I'm determined. I think the ending might have accidentally already been written, because I wrote a section I was going to put in a chapter and ended up not having a space for it and when I thought of it again the other day, I realized that might actually be the _ending_.
> 
> Also, cindyfxx's friend Bai made this super, _really_ gorgeous fanart of Steve that blew my mind and actually made me cry, which is also shown at the top of this chapter; http://cindyfxx.tumblr.com/post/115026487377/steve-rogers-with-wings-the-artist-bai-inspired
> 
> And WAIT. Wait wait ESTHER WERE YOU THE ONE WHO DREW THE OTHER FANART OF STEVE FROM WINGS? The pencil/colored pencil one? Did I link that? _Can_ I link that? I don't think I linked that and I don't want to without permission. fjdksl. If you see this, can you let me know? I'm _pretty sure_ it was you Esther, but I might be wrong. If I am and the artist reads this, can you let me know if I can link it in the next chapter? These fanarts make me emotional, I'm just... _blown away_ that you guys like the story enough to react with _creating things_ from/for it. I'm just. Send help. You guys are a big part of the reason I'm getting my shit together and changing my major in the first place. _Thank you_ for being so...you.
> 
> And here's the chapter!

“Sorry,” Steve says, ducking his head a little and flushing. Sharon laughs softly and Steve’s wings give a sharp twitch.

“It’s alright, Steve,” she replies, and he risks a glance up. She’s smiling as softly as she sounded and Steve feels his face heat a little more.

“I really didn’t mean to- I should have-” he cuts off when she touches his forearm gently, letting go after a moment.

“It’s alright,” she repeats, still smiling. He ducks his head a little again before lifting it back up, returning the smile with a small one of his own. “I just wasn’t prepared to see _Steve Rogers_ _naked_ in my bathroom,” she teases gently, and his wings shake a little in embarrassment while he covers his face with his hands and _groans_. He hears her laugh again and it sounds like Peggy and _doesn’t_ at the same time.

Oh, God, _Peggy_.

“She’ll never let me hear the end of this,” he says, muffled, wiping his hands down his face and looking over at Sharon. Her laughing stops and her eyes widen a little, eyebrows shooting up.

“You plan on telling her?” she asks, wings flaring.

“I-” he cuts himself off, snapping his mouth shut after a moment, “I don’t-”

“Carter’d get a _kick_ out of it,” Bucky says, and they both look over, watch him walk into the room. He smirks back. “Well? She _would._ ” Steve and Sharon both sigh and Bucky snorts, plopping down on the couch between them.

It’s quiet for a minute.

“So, you gonna sleep togeth-”

“ _No, Bucky_ ,” they both say at the same time. Bucky _sighs_ but when Steve looks, he’s smirking.

This is...nice.

Steve smiles, looking between the two of them.

“ _I’m sorry to interrupt_ ,” JARVIS says from the ceiling, and the good feeling from the mood suspends, “ _But Mr. Stark has requested a team meeting on Communal Floor One. It is urgent_.”

And then the good feeling drops like a weight in the pit of Steve’s stomach.

\--

“What is it Tony?” Steve asks, after they’ve all crawled out of their respective spaces and taken a seat at the long table. There’s just barely enough chairs for all of them, which Tony seems to note with a brief frown.

“This,” he answers, holding up a-

“A transmitter?” Clint asks, “Hydra?”

Tony nods, wings still, and Steve feels Bucky’s tense on his right where their wings are brushing.

“Where was it?” Bucky asks.

“The scepter,” Tony replies, lowering the transmitter and gripping it in a fist.

Steve keeps himself still when he feels a few eyes on him.

“The signals were too low for JARVIS to detect,” Tony continues before anyone can ask, “And the energy readings on the scepter spiked just before JARVIS blocked the signal when he found it. Whatever Hydra was doing, it’s not good, _as usual_.”

“Location?” Natasha asks, but Tony just shakes his head and she sits back a little in her chair.

“I looked into it first thing before calling a meeting,” he replies, shaking his wings out a little from where his feathers have gone ruffled, “The only thing I could find was the model number, but that’s not enough to go on.” His eyes shift over to Bucky and James and he holds the transmitter up again between his fingers. “Don’t suppose either one of you could give us something more specific?”

“No,” Bucky answers, shaking his head. Steve sees James do the same from his left.

“Standard issue. Untraceable,” James adds, and Tony nods with a sigh.

“Guess we’re waiting for them to strike, then,” he says, “Unless we can find out something sooner,” he adds, looking over to Natasha.

“Clint and I will look into it,” Natasha says, and Clint nods.

“I’ll check with my sources as well,” Sharon adds.

Tony nods. “See if you can get a hold of Fury, too,” he adds in Natasha’s direction, who nods as well.

“Well,” Tony says after a beat, “That’s it for now. Avengers dismissed.”

“ _So I’m an ‘Avenger’ now?_ ” Steve hears Bucky jokingly ask someone, but can’t look, can’t focus past the dead silence between his ears. This is all his-

A wing brushes his and he jumps slightly, whipping his head around to look over.

James looks back, expression soft, and Steve feels James’ hand grip the top of his thigh under the table, warm through his jeans. It’s a comfort Steve’s not sure he deserves, but James’ eyes says he does.

He reaches down and grips the top of James’ hand with his own, giving it a squeeze that James returns. Tony approaches them before they can get up and go, hands behind his back.

“In light of recent events,” he starts, “I made a decision.” Steve tenses, slowly rising from his chair. James and Bucky stay tensed in their own.

“And?” Steve asks, wings stiff, bracing himself for-

“Aaand,” Tony draws out, pulling his hands out from behind his back in a flash and tossing two things, one going over Steve’s shoulder between his head and wing and the other James catches. Steve looks down and-

He blinks.

It’s…

Steve turns a little and looks over his shoulder to see Bucky’s holding the same thing, expression matching James’, blank while he tries to process what it is he’s holding. Bucky’s fingers give it a squeeze.

“It’s a Bucky Bear,” Tony says, and Steve turns back around to look at him. Tony raises his eyebrows. “You _know?_ Or maybe you don’t. Might’ve been after your time. JARVIS?”

“ _The Bucky Bear prototype was first created in 1947_ ,” JARVIS answers dutifully.

“Yup,” Tony says, clapping his hands once, “So. I got you guys each one. Enjoy.”

He turns and heads for the elevator, wings jittery, before any of them can say anything, and Natasha passes them with Clint and Sharon and says something to James in Russian with a mischievous curl of her lips. James says something briefly back in the same while turning the bear around in his hands before standing up and turning to Steve, holding it out.

Steve stares down at it, then looks back up at James.

“You don’t want it?” he asks.

“You need it more,” James replies, softer, lips curling up just a little.

Steve blinks, the backs of his eyes stinging a little, and looks down, slowly taking it.

He studies the little blue and red outfit and black domino mask on its face, rubs over the soft material with his thumb.

“Thank you,” he says, quieter, blinking a little more and looking back up. James steps in close and presses a kiss to his cheek that has Steve closing his eyes, squeezing the bear a little tighter.

“It looks nothing _like_ me,” he hears Bucky complain to Sharon behind him, and Steve lets out slightly watery laugh, clutching the bear closer.

\--

Steve heads back to their apartment with Bucky and James in tow, still looking down at the bear while they bicker behind him. Bucky says something in what sounds like _Japanese_ and James answers _wryly_ in Russian. Bucky snips something back in what sounds like _obnoxious_ Russian and then lets out an offended sound after James replies something quick right back.

Steve smiles where they can’t see.

The elevator opens and he steps out, hears both follow behind, and as soon as he gets the apartment door open a kitten comes barreling down the hall. Steve steps inside quickly and they manage to get the door closed just in time for three more kittens to poke their heads around the corner at the end of the hall and come running, stumbling and tumbling a little while the gray one circles Steve’s feet, _mew_ ing. James crouches down, says something soft and quiet in Russian and the kitten switches targets and runs for _him_.

“So, what are we going to do,” Bucky says, picking up the second kitten and looking over at Steve.

Steve sighs, bending down to pick up the third and heading over for the couch, keeping the bear out of its reach.

“Wait to see if Natasha, Clint, Sharon, and Tony can gather any more intel,” he settles on, taking a seat. Bucky takes the one immediately on his right and James on his left, two kittens in his hands, “If they find anything, we plan an attack and move. If not, we’ll have to prepare for anything Hydra might do.”

Bucky sighs, waggling his bear at the kitten in his lap. Steve nudges him with a wing and Bucky frowns, but pulls it out of the kitten’s clawed reach.

“You knew,” James says quietly, and Steve looks over. James glances past him at Bucky and Steve turns his head, wings flaring as much as they can where he’s wedged between the two of them.

“About the transmitter?” Steve asks, staring at him, “You knew I-”

“No,” Bucky cuts him off, bristling and giving Steve a stern look, feathers puffed up like an angry bird, “I _suspected **Red Skull**_ did something, because we _both_ know he would’ve planned for more than what he did. I was going to talk to you about it after I checked with Stark, but...Stark beat me to it,” he finishes, quieter. Steve studies him for a moment and Bucky stares back, raising his eyebrows challengingly. Steve blows out a breath and sits back against the couch, looking straight, and forces his wings to relax.

“You’re right,” he says quietly, “Red Skull would have done more.” Bucky’s feathers deflate. “But you should’ve _told_ me-”

“ _Christ_ , _Steve_ ,” Bucky lets out, leaning forward a little and turning his head to look at him again, “You beat yourself up enough over it when it wasn’t your _fault_ to begin with,” he argues, staring Steve down, “I didn’t want to go to you with it until I had something more solid than my _gut_ , not with the way...the way you were.” Steve’s wings freeze and Bucky’s mouth twists a little. “Yeah, I _know_ you,” he says, “Better than anyone in this whole damn _building_ , and I _know_ when you’re taking the blame for shit you haven’t done and feeling guilt for shit that isn’t _on_ _you_. You didn’t need me coming to you with hunches and speculation when you needed some time to yourself. _Sue me_ for wanting to keep you _safe,_ even if from your own guilt _,_ ” he finishes, the last quieter again and his lips pressing in a firm line.

Steve stares back and Bucky eventually looks away first, setting the kitten down on the floor and then rising from the couch. Steve catches his wrist when he makes to leave and Bucky stops.

He wishes Bucky would both look at him and is privately glad that he _isn’t_ all at once.

James shifts a little and makes to move, too, probably to give them some privacy, but Steve grabs his wrist, too, feels him still, Bucky’s metal and James’ flesh firm beneath his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Steve gets out, still looking up, watching what little he can see of Bucky’s face: the tip of his nose and the rise of a cheek. His hair’s getting longer, closer to what it used to look like during the war and less of the wild spikes he’s been sporting since he cut it. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

Bucky finally turns his head and looks down at him and Steve tugs on his wrist gently. Bucky lets himself be pulled back down to the couch.

“I know you’re trying to look out for me,” Steve continues, lacing his fingers with Bucky and James’ and giving them both a squeeze, looking between the two of them, “ _Both_ of you.”

“ _Someone_ has to,” Bucky mumbles, adding in a small grumble, “Since you won’t do it yer damn _self_.” Steve smiles a little, self-deprecating, and James leans against his shoulder and rests his chin on Steve’s while Bucky presses _their_ shoulders together, too.

“On this, we agree,” James says quietly, and Steve has to blink a few times to stave off the sting at the backs of his eyes, blinking and watching the tears slide down and drop on the bear in his lap through blurry vision, anyway.

The kittens that James gave a home are playing together on the floor in a tower in the middle of the city that Steve’s currently trying to call home, too, a city and a time he’s still trying to get used to and fit _into_.

But he thinks the real home might be right here, in between Bucky and James and the wings folding together in front of him, a cocoon of brown and white. That instead of four small walls or a trench and tents with cigarettes and dirty jokes, it’s arguments and laughter and love pressed into his skin and wings.

That it’s being between two men who are the same and different and have always been his gun and shield.

“ _I love you_ ,” Steve whispers, a little strangled, “God, what did I do to deserve you, _**both**_ _of you?_ ”

James presses replies into his skin in English and Russian and Bucky presses his forehead to Steve’s temple, looking at him like he’s the dumbest, best thing in the world.

And Steve lets himself fall apart again, trusts them both to pick up the pieces and put him back together, like they always have.

\--

Sharon comes back after two days with a frustrated shake of her head and sits on Bucky’s right where the three of them are piled together on the communal couch watching _Lord of the Rings_.

“No luck?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Sharon sighs, “Let’s hope Romanoff and Barton come up with something. Where are you at in the movie?” she asks, nodding her chin towards the screen.

“They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard,” James replies quietly, and they all turn their heads to look, confused, when Sharon bursts out laughing, wing jutting sharply into Bucky’s.

\--

Bucky’s reaching up for a mug at some un _Godly_ hour in the morning when Stark comes shuffling in.

Bucky glances over, notes the bags under Stark’s eyes, the lighter skin tone, the dark smudges on his cheek dipping into his facial hair and the way his hair is flared out like a windswept rooster, his feathers not faring much better.

“You look like shit,” Bucky comments, turning his head back around and closing the cabinet to Stark’s snort, setting the mug down on the counter with a soft _thunk_.

“And you’re just exactly the first thing I wanted to see after forty-eight hours of staring at bright blue text,” Stark snips back, pulling the fridge open, rubber suction like a _smack_ of lips in the silence. Bucky tilts his head a little before nodding, conceding the point, then turns and reaches to catch the handle of the fridge door as it starts closing-

Stark’s hand whips out and grips his wrist and Bucky tenses, wings going still and expression smoothing out while the fridge door falls shut and he tells himself to _calm down_ before turning his head to look at Stark.

“You know you’re only using your right hand,” Stark says, staring at him, “Right?”

Bucky blinks and stares back, doesn’t look at his hand like he wants to.

Instead, he drops his eyes to the arc reactor glowing through Tony’s black shirt.

“You get used to it?” he asks.

Stark lets go of his wrist and turns around to get a cupboard open, wings still and shoulders loose. He pulls down a box of Coco Puffs.

“No,” Stark finally replies, opening another cupboard to pull down a bowl, glancing over his shoulder while he shakes it in the air a little and jutting a wing out in Bucky’s direction. He looks away again as soon as Bucky inclines his head in the positive and pours the cereal, brown, flakey beads bouncing around the bowl like ping-pong balls, soft and light in the kitchen, then pours another. “But I did learn to use it.”

Stark pours milk in each, twisting the cap back on before opening a slider drawer and pulling out two spoons. He slides them into the cereal, grips both bowls, and turns around, offering one out.

Bucky takes it.

“I learned to _own_ it,” Stark says, looking straight at him, “ _That’s_ up to you.” He scoops up a spoonful and takes a bite of cereal.

Bucky looks down into his bowl.

He shifts it to his flesh hand and picks the spoon up with his left, holding it for a moment before scooping up some cereal and bringing it to his mouth, taking a bite. When he looks up, Stark’s wings are jittering a bit, slightly shaky, but he’s smirking.

Stark holds his bowl out and Bucky snorts, doing the same and _clink_ ing them together.

“Welcome to the club,” Stark says, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

It’s only a little forced.

\--

“You ever thought about using that big brain of yours to make prosthetics?” Bucky asks while he’s rinsing out his bowl a little later.

Stark gives a thoughtful _hum_ , eyes lowering to his reactor and then up to Bucky’s arm.

Bucky keeps his wings from twitching.

“Probably should,” he finally replies, and Bucky’s wing give a small _flick_ in Stark’s direction.

\--

James carries the box with him and stops at Sam’s floor first, two above Steve’s and his.

He frowns slightly at the door, glances down at the box, then leans forward a little and taps his forehead against the door twice.

The door opens sixty seconds later and Sam’s eyebrows rise high. If he had bangs, they would be hidden in the forest of them.

“Hey, James,” Sam greets, eyes dropping down to the box, “What do you- Oh, hey there, kittens.”

James crouches down and sets the box on the floor, then reaches in and pulls one of the two black kittens out, rising back up and holding it out to Sam by the scruff.

Sam blinks, eyes shifting between the kitten and James.

“I don’t- I can’t take a cat-” Sam starts.

“Home,” James cuts him off, and Sam’s mouth closes.

He holds his cupped hands out after a moment and James sets the kitten down in them, gold eyes flashing to him briefly before focusing on Sam.

Sam’s mouth opens and closes once, bringing the kitten in close, and when the kitten paws gently at his nose he sighs, resigned and sold. “Thank you,” he says, holding the kitten close to his chest.

James crouches back down and picks up the box again, turning and heading for the elevator. His wings flutter a little when he hears Sam cooing quietly to the kitten as he closes his door.

_Self-appointed Mission: Success._

-

He sets the box on top of Stark’s work table and then reaches into it, pulling out and setting the calico kitten next to it on the shiny metal surface.

Stark pauses his work on a cylinder and stares.

“What’s that.”

“A cat,” James replies. Stark looks up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I know _what_ it is,” he says, “But what _is_ it?”

“Yours,” James replies simply, and gives the kitten a nudge towards Stark. “Home.” Stark frowns and looks back down at the kitten, watches it slip and slide a little walking across the work table and then sniff at the cylinder.

Stark purses his lips, wings giving a twitch.

The calico moves to step on the cylinder and Stark puts his wrench down, lifting the kitten up and holding it while he strokes its head.

“ _Fine_ ,” he says, like he’s put-upon, “Okay, _okay_.”

James picks up the box and heads for the door, lips tilting up slightly when he hears:

_“I hope Pepper likes you. **Wow** her with those green eyes of yours like you’re doing me, yeah? **Ruthless**.”_

_Self-appointed Mission: Success._

-

James takes the box back to their apartment and scoops up the mother, rubbing his fingers gently along her head while he takes the elevator down to the lowest living quarter.

When he knocks, Banner answers, hair frazzled and glasses slightly askew.

“What is-” Banner yawns, cutting himself off. “Sorry,” he says, rubbing his eyes with his fingers up beneath his glasses before blinking hard once and looking back at James, “What is- Oh,” he stops, eyes drifted lower, “Hello, there. May I?” he asks.

James holds the mother out and Banner pauses, then carefully takes her, letter her sniff at him before deciding he’s comfortable enough and settling in, starting up a _purr_ when Banner strokes his fingers over her head. “She’s- Uh. James?” he asks.

James stops and turns back around at the elevator.

Banner’s thick eyebrows are drawn together and his expression is puzzled.

James points at him.

“Home.”

Banner’s eyebrows draw together tighter, looking down at the cat before they shoot back up and his eyes widen.

“I can’t-”

James tilts his head slightly and raises a wing a little and Banner stops, wings twitching once, twice.

“Um,” he says, after a moment of silence.

James turns and steps into the elevator, watching Banner look back down at the cat with a small, quirk of a smile as the doors slide closed.

_Self-appointed Mission: Success._

-

He finds Bucky in the gym doing laps and sits on the side bench while he plays with the orange kitten, waiting.

Bucky finally finishes after ten more minutes and lands nearby, breathing increased but not hard, and grabs up a water bottle off the other end of the bench, bringing it up and taking a pull.

“Letting them venture outside the nest?” he teases.

James dances his fingers along the bench, metal knocking lightly on wood while the kitten chases the gleaming silver. He catches it when it lunges and stands up, holding it out towards Bucky with both hands.

Bucky pauses, slowly lowering the water bottle and swallowing his mouthful, eyes glancing between the kitten and James’ face.

“I’m not taking a cat,” he says. James just stares at him. Bucky frowns. “I’m not. It’s cute, but I can’t-...I just can’t.”

James stares at him blankly, eyes darting over his still wings, the fingers of his left hand curling into a fist, watches Bucky’s eyes slant away and pulls the kitten back in to his chest.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he says, quiet and calm. Bucky’s wings give a small jerk and James walks around him, heading for the door.

_Self-appointed Mission: Fail._

-

He gives the cat to Sharon.

Bucky doesn’t try to return it.

James catches him carrying a box of cat toys with a shipping logo on it into the elevator. Bucky just looks at him and shakes his head before the doors slide closed.

( _But James saw his lips curl up, just a little_ ).

 _Self-appointed Mission: ~~Fail~~ Success_.

-

When Natasha returns, she goes to Stark, first. James waits until she’s finished - thirty minutes after - before stopping at her floor.

She opens the door and her eyes drop down to the cat, unsurprised.

“Stark had a calico roaming around his work table,” she says calmly, looking back up at him, “And Barnes had a small feather stuck in his hair. Banner was carrying a book on cat caretaking and Wilson had a black one on his shoulder. Are you foisting kittens onto Avengers?” she asks, lips curving up slightly, teasingly. James steps in close and stops, holds the kitten towards her in between them.

He watches her hand lift and her pale, smooth fingers stroke through it’s dark fur, stark and mesmerizing.

She carefully takes it from him and he leans down and presses his lips to the corner of her mouth.

“You are tired,” he says quietly.

She laughs, just as quiet.

“Don’t ever tell a woman that,” she returns, teasing, smiling up at him sharp and soft and endlessly contradictive in all the ways he loves her.

“I won’t,” he replies, and her smile softens, just a little, because she _is_ a woman now, and not just a machine, not anymore. He won’t say she’s tired ever again.

Her wings gently brush his as she turns around and heads into her apartment, door left open, and James follows her inside.

-

He sits clothed against the headboard ten minutes later while she curls up on her side on the bed with an arm under the side of her head, free hand’s fingers dancing across the white bed sheets while the black kitten chases them like pale lights on snow, then red feathers that could burn the world to the ground without anyone noticing until it was far, far too late.

Just like her red did to him.

-

Steve walks in with a _sigh_ , rolling his head and stretching out his neck.

“Tony’s compiling information,” he says aloud, heading for the wall of windows at the back of the apartment where James likes to lay in the sun when he hears metallic tapping, “There’s a group meeting in an hour,” he adds, smiling a little when he finds James playing with the gray kitten again.

He stops and sits on the floor across from James, wiggling his fingers towards the kitten and smiling when it bounds over to him, frowning a little after a moment when he doesn’t hear any other kittens pouncing and scrambling all over the apartment.

Steve lifts his head and looks around the apartment.

“Where did the others go?” he asks, looking back to James.

“Wilson, Banner, Stark, Bucky, Natalia,” he replies, and Steve blinks, wings flaring a little. James looks up at him. “Home.” Steve eyes widen a little and, after a moment, he drops them down to the kitten trying to bite at his fingers.

“And this one?” Steve asks, quieter than he means to. When he looks up, James is looking at it, eyes lifting to his again after a moment.

“This one is already home,” he replies quietly, and Steve blinks again, wings sagging a little while he smiles, small and slow.

“Come here?” he asks, holding his free hand out towards James.

James shuffles closer and leans down a little for a kiss before sitting at Steve’s side, leaning their shoulders and pressing their wings together.

Steve leans his head down on James’ shoulder and James rests his own against it, watching Steve watch the kitten.

“Hydra’s up to something,” Steve says, quieter, after a short while, still playing with the kitten, “I don’t…” he trails off, letting out a quiet sigh, wings sagging for a different reason against James’ and the floor. “I’m tired,” Steve settles on, almost a whisper, leans against James a little more, “Are you?”

James wraps a wing around the back of Steve’s and his arm around Steve’s waist, metal firm and secure.

“I don’t know,” James replies honestly, watching the kitten chase its own tail, “What does it feel like?” Steve makes a small sound, quiet, sad and _broken_ , and James wants to swallow the words back down and take it _away,_ out of Steve’s reach so he never has to make it again, so he doesn’t know _how_ to.

“Like when you want to sleep, but you’re awake,” Steve answers after a while, quiet, “You’re not tired, but in the center of your chest you just feel... _heavy_.” James considers this, lips pinching a little while he thinks.

He could fight if he had to without complication.

He could fight for days without food or water, he _has_.

He could fight without clothes, blindfolded, and with nothing but his flesh and blood hand.

‘Tired’ is new, something he learned when he was in a cage in S.H.I.E.L.D. and then at Steve’s apartment. He has never been allowed to think about ‘tired’. He has been trained to push all feelings aside and _fight_.

But...does he... _want_ to?

James’ wings give a twitch.

Wants are new, too.

“I...might be,” James answers, haltingly. It is hard, to say something like this. “I am...tired,” he half forces out, gritting his teeth a little after while his wings go still, stiffening a bit, training straining and vying for control.

He feels Steve shift, feels eyes on him, but his own eyes are locked on the floor.

“I am...tired. I am tired,” he repeats, breathing picking up, but it gets just a little easier each time, just a little, “I _am_ tired. _I am tired_ ,” he says, and the pressure in his chest slowly, very slowly eases up a bit from where it’s built up like a brick over his heart, instincts and training and programming; greedy, desperate, _oppressing_ things.

He feels fingers gently touch his cheek and can finally move, turns his head into them and closes his eyes for a moment before turning his head back around to look at Steve.

“Then let's put an end to them,” Steve says, quiet and resolute and _angry_ , each gaining traction like a boulder rolling downhill, like a body pushed down the steep green into a ravine, “And get some rest.”

James looks at him for a long minute before nodding, and meets Steve’s lips with his own, closed eyelids painted orange by the dying sunlight outside the windows.

\--

James sits next to Steve at the long table and Stark pulls up bright, blue, holographic schematics. Sam’s kitten is on his shoulder and when they lock eyes, Sam smiles, wider than James has seen in days. It is good to see it.

“Romanoff and Barton got into contact with Fury,” Stark starts, pulling up a map, “Who said there’s been some activity going on here.” An area near the center highlights red when he circles it with a finger. “Nothing big, just guns, some mechanical parts, but one of the parts he mentioned brought up a red flag as having been used by S.H.I.E.L.D. to contain the scepter after the Chitauri invasion,” he continues. James notices Barton’s wings go stiff, just slightly. “So it’s suspicious.”

“We should look into it,” Steve says, and Stark’s eyes shift to him.

“Could be a trap,” Stark replies, and Steve nods.

“I know,” he says.

“Could be a trap for _us_ ,” Bucky adds in, and Steve turns to look at him. Bucky taps a few fingers on the table, metal _clink_ ing on glass.

“I know,” Steve repeats. Bucky sighs. “You and James should-”

“I’m not staying here,” Bucky cuts him off, and Steve frowns. Bucky’s eyes shift to _him_ and Steve turns, looking at him, too.

“If the trap is meant for us,” James says, thinking it over, “Perhaps we should.” He looks up at Bucky and Bucky’s expression goes grim.

“How many men?” Bucky asks, looking to Natasha.

“Unknown,” she replies, and Bucky frowns, “It’s a high end hotel just on the edge of Moscow. Not busy this time of year, but it is a known place.”

“Audacious,” Stark comments, and Natasha nods at him.

“More bold than the warehouse Steve was held in.” James feels Steve’s wing shudder slightly against his own, presses his more firmly against the soft pitch of it.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s not just as dangerous,” Sam adds in, expression also grim.

Natasha nods.

“Perhaps more,” she agrees, eyes glancing between James and Bucky and then to Steve.

“Bucky and James can stay-” Steve starts.

“We finish,” James cuts him off quietly, and Steve turns to look to him quickly. James looks back. “We finish this, and we rest,” he reminds. Steve’s expression pinches a little before softening somewhat and then going torn, and Steve sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair, bangs slanting gently across his forehead and barely prevented from falling into his eye by his eyebrow.

“What do you two want to do?” Steve asks after a full minute, looking between the two of them and eyes looking like the words _cost_ him.

James looks to Bucky and Bucky nods. James inclines his head slightly, looking back to Steve.

“ _Fight_ ,” they say at the same time.

“Finish this,” James starts.

“And go home,” Bucky finishes.

Steve looks at them both for another minute before finally giving a nod and Stark knocks twice on the glass of the tabletop, knuckles like a gavel.

“Then it’s decided,” he says, shaking his wings out, “We all fight.” Everyone nods. “And we kick their _ass_.”

That gets him a few snorts and a couple laughs, and James feels Steve’s hand on his leg under the table.

James settles his right hand over it and gives it a squeeze.

 

_Bonus_

 

“So...I have news.” Pepper’s expression turns a little worried. “I’m pregnant.”

She stares.

Tony holds up the kitten.

Her eyes soften and she opens her mouth a little before straightening herself up and composing herself.

“I think it’s a boy,” Tony says, glancing over at it before turning it over in his hands to look.

“ _Tony_ ,” Pepper chides, then pauses, “... _What is it?_ ”

“Girl,” Tony answers, turning it back over and getting a small paw swiped at his nose for his troubles.

“ _Tony_ ,” Pepper starts, calm and patient, “ _How are we going to take care of a cat? You can’t just let it roam the workshop, it **will** get into things. What if it gets hurt?_ ”

“Pepper,” Tony says seriously, setting the kitten onto the table when it starts squirming in his hold, “Our child was given to me by a very dangerous man with a robotic arm. I don’t think I can return it. ...I am never saying a sentence like that again.”

Pepper’s eyebrows rise a little.

Tony _sighs_ emphatically, wings giving a flutter. The kitten darts for the edge of the table, ready to launch itself at the feathers off the metal cliff and Tony scoops it up just when it starts to.

“Pep?” he asks, looking back when she doesn’t say anything.

“ _Bring her closer to the screen,_ ” she says after a moment.

She uses ‘her’, and _that’s_ how Tony knows he’s won.

He holds _her_ closer to the screen, grinning.

 

_Bonus 2_

 

James finds it when he’s out with Natasha again, this time just the one, and heads for the shooting range after he’s given it a bath.

Clint’s bent over an arrow, sat at a table against a wall, and James drops it gently down into the small circle of his arms, tan fur still damp. Clint stops what he’s doing and blinks, then straightens up a bit and looks up at James, raising both eyebrows in a question.

James signs:

_Yours now. Home._

Clint blinks again and looks back down, then sets the arrow on the table and rubs his fingertips over the head and down the back, between the ears. The kitten _mew_ s and _purr_ s, small and quiet, and Clint’s lips curve up, feeling the vibrations through his fingers.

He looks up at James and signs:

_Will do._

James nods and then turns and leaves.

_Self-appointed Mission: Success._


	40. Bloodstream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS. So, remember when I said I wouldn't give you an awful cliffhanger? I... _kind of_ kept my word? I wasn't expecting them to divide up like this but they did so I'm working on 42 now. I was going to wait to post them, but you guys have waited long enough.  
>  ALSO. I got a job. I might be busy. I was going through writer's block. Etc. I'm still writing and _trying to write_ through it. I really appreciate all of your patience. Seriously. I know I don't update as frequently as any of us would like and I'm glad you're all still here reading and waiting patiently and flailing at me in comments. It's amazing. I love you all.  <3  
> Thank you.  
> NOW- wait. Also, I experimented a little with how I wrote these two, so if they seem different that's partly because of the writer's block and _partly_ because I was experimenting with flow. But Kay said it was aight and I trust her judgment.  
>  P.s. Gina sent me this song and I am ruined: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIJHg1XWR7o  
> It inspired the title. And I ran into this and further ruined myself: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JznXx1Ns374  
> Because that is Steve and Bucky in damn _canon_.  
>  Still blaming Gina.
> 
>  _NOW,_ HERE WE GO.

“ _Checking all communication devices!_ ” Tony calls in his ear.

“Check!” Steve calls back, strapping his uniform pants into place. The rest of the team calls out the same while they get ready and Bucky shifts a little with a small wing twitch, doing the button at the top of his own pants.

“I shouldn’t be surprised he has uniforms made for us already,” he says, and Steve looks between them with a frown, James at his left and Bucky at his right, “They even _match_ , the little shit,” Bucky adds, smirking. James just does up the straps up the length of the front of his uniform top and Steve can’t help watching him, and Bucky, moving like this is something they both do every day.

As often as Steve does it.

He focuses back on his own uniform.

“Well,” Bucky adds after a moment, getting his own top on, “Minus the color.”

“Black suits me,” James says quietly, and they both look over at him.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees seriously, “I was always more of a blue person, anyway.”

Steve looks back over at him.

The uniform top is similar to the Winter Soldier one, to his old _Howling Commandos_ one, but made of a material similar to Steve’s. More form fitting, too, and a darker blue. The pants are just a little similar to his but a lot closer to Clint’s, even with all of the extra pockets, and the boots stop just below the knee, more like Natasha’s. An amalgamation of _Winter Soldier_ and _Avengers_.

James’ is the same, except black.

Steve thinks it...actually really suits _both_ of them. Tony knew what he was doing.

“At least these pants make my ass look great,” Bucky comments, turning a little to get a look. Sharon swats it on her way past and Bucky smirks, wings fluttering a little while she smirks right back, her own fluttering in return.

“Not as good as mine,” James says quietly, and they both whip their heads around.

“You just made a joke,” Tony says, head poking out around a divider column, “My stars and _stripes_ ,” Steve rolls his eyes, “ _RoboBarnes_ just made a _joke_ \- _JARVIS!_ ”

“ _Recorded, Sir_ ,” JARVIS replies, and Tony’s wings jitter back and forth while he grins.

Steve just shakes his head while Tony disappears again and looks over to James, letting his eyes slowly scan down and then back up the sleek and deadly length of him. James’ eyes are on his when they finally reach James’ face again.

“It _does_ look good,” Steve agrees, and grins a little. James’ lips twitch up in a small smirk.

“ _Not as good as Tasha’s_ ,” Clint says as he passes by the end of their locker row. Steve just sees Natasha’s fist appear around the corner and Clint fist bumps her as he goes.

Bucky snorts a laugh.

\--

“Alright,” Tony starts in the Strategy Room, “Widow picked up a beat from Fury about Hydra in Moscow,” he recaps, pulling up a hologram of a building, “High end hotel, eight stories, possibility for further underground expansion. They’re shipping parts to and from, nothing major, but one of the parts caught our attention as having been used to help contain the scepter. Cap?”

Steve walks to the front of the room.

“There are six entries from the ground floor,” Steve starts, pointing to the highlighted locations on the hologram, “Too many for us to cover. So two of us will go in from the bottom and two from the top while Hawkeye and Bucky cover us from a front and back corner of the building, covering all sight lines around the whole thing. Black Widow and James will go in through the front under the guise of guests checking in. If they recognize you, play along for as long as you can,” Steve says, eyes focused on them, “But keep yourselves safe and get out of there as soon as you feel like you should."

They both nod.

Steve points to a window on the third floor, next.

“I’ll come in from here with Sharon and we’ll work our way down, see if we run into or hear anything that might help us while Widow and James subtly search the first floor and confirm or deny underground activity. Falcon? Take to the air, scout the roads in all directions, discreetly.” Sam nods. “Thor, Bruce, and Iron Man?” They straighten a little. “You three wait on standby. If this goes south, we’ll need you to come in hot and fast, provide a distraction or support, probably both. Bruce,” Steve adds, Bruce angling his head up slightly, “Last resort.” Bruce nods and Steve looks around the room. “Anything else?”

Silence.

“Alright. Avengers, move out.”

They all head for the quinjet hangar, and Steve hears Bucky mutter to Sharon, “ _Guess we **are** Avengers now_.”

\--

Steve sits between James and Bucky, Sharon on Bucky’s right, and Steve’s wings give a slight twitch with a sigh when he can _still_ feel eyes on him.

“ _What?_ ” he finally asks, looking up.

Stark just shakes his head a little, lips trying to do some strange thing between a smirk and a _wavy line_.

“Who knew _you_ of all people would be the one to end up with a harem,” he comments. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“That, right there?” Sam starts, indicating the four of them with a pointing finger, “Is called _Polyamory_.” Steve and Bucky both raise their eyebrows, glancing at each other while Sharon smiles and Clint snorts. James just closes his eyes, leaning a little into Steve. Steve automatically leans back, looking back to Stark and Sam.

Tony shrugs his wings and Sam rolls his eyes good naturedly, and Bucky looks back to Steve.

“This is normal?” he asks quietly. Steve just shrugs the shoulder James isn’t leaning against.

“The future, Buck,” he replies, like that explains everything.

Bucky just nods, looking a little bewildered.

“ _Yeah, Steve_.”

_It kind of does._

\--

“ _Two miles ‘till drop!_ ” Natasha calls back from the front.

Sam undoes his harness and stands, heading for the hatch. Steve follows suit and walks over, Sam turning to look at him when he gets close enough, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Are you good to go?” Steve asks, and Sam’s expression clears, a smile curving up his lips.

“Yeah, man. I’m good,” he replies, clapping Steve on the shoulder. Steve nods, sharing a smile with him before stepping back. Sam hits the button on the side and the back gradually opens up, floor angling down into a slope that drops off into rushing wind.

Sam walks down it and stops near the edge, turning and throwing Steve a slute with a grin before letting himself drop over the end. Steve’s heart climbs into his throat briefly before he sees Sam take off, letting out a slow breath as Sam’s jets fade into the wind before walking over and hitting the button, heading back to his seat as the hatch closes.

James looks at him softly and Bucky gives his leg a squeeze while Sharon smiles, and Steve smiles at the three of them.

\--

They land the jet a few miles away in the forest that’s essentially the backyard of the hotel, filing out under the cover of night while Thor, Bruce, and Tony stay behind like planned.

Natasha and James break off to make their way around towards the front of the building, dressed in furs to ‘fight the cold’, but really to hide their uniforms.

Steve and Sharon climb up a tree once they’re certain Natasha and James haven’t been ambushed making their way through the forest and launch up to take flight. It’s practically a straight shot to the third story window Steve pointed to on the hologram a few hours ago.

They both land on the small ledge, a tight fit, wings pulled in tight and backs pressed to the short spaces of wall on either side of the window. Steve leans just enough to see through it down the hall and catches dark brown wings rounding a corner.

He waits a full thirty seconds before looking to Sharon and nodding, keeps watch on the hall and around themselves while she perches close to the lock and gets it open.

As soon as she does, they slip quietly inside.

“We’re in,” Sharon whispers into her comm.

Steve presses his back to the corner he saw the wings disappear behind and listens, leaning around it just enough to see and motioning to Sharon the all clear before they move down the hall, listening to Natasha speak to a woman at the front desk and James say something briefly in German in their ears.

Steve repeats the same action at the next corner.

“ _East is clear five miles!_ ” Sam reports loud and clear in his ear, sounding like he’s shouting over the wind, “ _Heading West!_ ”

“ _Roger_ ,” Tony replies.

Steve and Sharon make it halfway through the second floor before he hears-

\--

James falls into step with Natalia, matches their paces and they let their wings brush every other step to give the appearance of a couple as soon as they emerge from the line of trees, boots _crunch_ ing over rock as they head for the front doors.

He notices it almost as soon as they are inside.

He walks with Natalia up to the front desk, lets her take the extra step forward to speak with the woman in German behind the counter while he hangs back, takes the chance to let his eyes casually roam the room. When her wing just lightly brushes his when she shifts while talking with the woman, he knows she’s noticed it, too.

No one is looking at each other. At all.

They know.

James looks back to Natalia just as the woman says-

\--

“ _Please follow me_ ,” Steve hears, faint and accented but there, in English. Steve frowns, coming to a stop.

He mouths the words.

Natasha never mentioned they could speak English-

He takes off down the hall at a _run_.

“Cap-” Sharon starts.

“It’s a trap!” Steve gets out before she can finish, then hears gunfire going off in his ear.

“ _It’s here_ ,” Steve hears someone say from up around the next corner, “ _Kill the Widow and collect it, quickly_ -”

Steve rounds the corner and a pair of blonde wings jut out, their owner’s eyes widening while the dark brown ones from earlier do the same, reaching for their belt. Steve _throws_ his shield and takes the second one out while Sharon comes up fast and corners the first, blocking the man in with gold. Steve collects his shield and stands behind her.

“What did you mean _‘collect’?_ ” Sharon demands, and the man just grins.

“We knew it would come,” he replies, tongue moving, “Hail-”

Steve _bashes_ him in the face with his shield. The man slides down into a slump against the wall and Sharon stomps on the cyanide tooth that fell out of his mouth, looking over at Steve.

“ _None of them are storming out the front_ ,” Bucky reports in his ear.

\--

“They’re staying inside,” Bucky says into his comm, looking through his scope, “Hawkeye, confirm?”

“ _Confirm_ ,” Clint responds. Bucky’s wings give a twitch.

“They’re converging in the lobby,” Bucky says, sees red wings flash briefly near a first floor window in a quirk blur, “James is the target. Cap-”

\--

“Roger,” Steve cuts him off, looking down the hall and then down at the carpeted floor, muffled gunfire loud and _close_. He takes a quick step back.

“Steve, what are you-” Sharon starts.

Steve _slams_ his shield down into the floor with a loud _crack_ while Sharon quickly pushes herself back with a beat of her wings. Steve pulls his own in as he falls through the floor to the sound of _louder_ gunfire before spreading his wings wide-

\--

The ceiling opens up with a sound like thunder just as James gets caught point blank ( _failure_ ) and the room goes still. Everyone looks up, shifting their guns and-

James looks ( _failure_ -)

 _Steve_ -

They fire-

 _ **Descends**_ upon them, like-

Steve deflects the bullets with his shield while crashing to the floor in a crouch like a cannonball, black wings unfurling rapidly like sheets caught in a tornado, graceful and dangerous like they hold _stars_ and _universes_ and-

He moves like a tornado, wings flexing and _shoving_ , flinging agents left and right while he twists with his shield, blocking gunfire and ramming into agents, upwards into their faces and forwards into their chests.

The surrounding agents are unconscious within seconds, James listening to their bodies hit the floor, can’t move ( _failure, **but** -_)

The other agents finally move, were just as frozen as _he_ is, and Natalia moves like dancing, slashing flame behind the shifting curtain of black blocking most of his view, and James is _frozen_ ( _failure, **but**_ )-

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, sharp and almost a demand, lowering his wings while turning to him, “ _James_ -”

James snaps a hand out, grabs Steve’s arm and spins them to block a bullet aimed for Steve’s head with his left, feels the small pressure and hears it _ping_ off of his arm before he fires back, hitting the Hydra agent in the forehead. The gun _clicks_ , empty.

Steve pulls them down into a low crouch and gets them behind his shield near the corner of the long counter.

Steve looks at him.

“No one has protected me,” James says, pulling out another clip while ejecting the first, hears it _clatter_ to the ground amidst the _grunts_ and _yells_ and _gunfire_ -

“Are you mad?” Steve asks, and now James knows him well enough now to hear the _frown_ in his _voice_ -

He looks up as the new clip _clicks_ into place and reaches up with his left hand to pull Steve’s face to his by the back of Steve’s helmeted head, crushing their lips together. He runs out from behind the cover of the shield before Steve can react, but James hears him say, “ _ **Not** mad_ ,” and-

And can hear the _smile_ in his voice.

\--

Steve fights, but as soon as he gets one down, two more pop up in their place, just like Hydra likes to say.

He catches flashes of dark brown and glinting silver and fire red in his periphery and they loosely coordinate when they can, but mostly it’s just-

 _Overwhelming_.

“They keep coming,” Steve grits out, shoving two more Hydra agents back just to have to dodge gunfire from _three_ , “Has anyone been able to confirm underground passageways?” He ducks a knife and jams his shield up into the agent’s jaw, dodging a wing from two different sets of them and swiping the owners across the face with both of his own.

“ _No_ ,” Stark replies in his ear, sounding busy, “ _But we can’t rule it out. Need a hand?_ ”

Steve dodges another knife and Natasha zips past him. “ _Now would be_ \- Wait.”

Steve scans the room quickly, looking for silver and dark brown, but there’s _nothing_ -

“James is gone,” he says quickly, trying to keep the _panic_ out of his voice, “I can’t find him.”

“ _Tracking building heat signatures-_ ” Stark replies, and Steve hears a loud _beep_ , “ _Signal jammed. They have an underground section. No other way. Cap, we’re moving in_.”

“ _Hurry_ ,” Steve grits back, shoving both of his wings out and sending five Hydra agents to the ground.

\--

His wing gives a slow _jerk,_ laggy. His head feels filled with _fog_ -

James swivels his head to the left while he cracks his eyes open, lights quickly passing by overhead, bright and near _blinding_. Would make him dizzy if he was still capable of it.

The man to his right’s eyes dart down to him.

“Give it another shot!” he orders.

Something _pricks_ his neck and James’ world goes blurred and dark again.

\--

“ _Where **is** it?_ ” Steve asks to himself, gritting it out, low and frustrated, looking over the walls while the others check the rest of the lobby, stepping over Hydra agents knocked out or dead scattered across the floor.

“ _Steve!_ ” Bucky calls, and Steve head whips around. Bucky jerks his own and a wing towards the hall that leads to the elevators. “Bad guys still fond of bookshelf passageways?”

Steve stops what he’s doing and hurries over, following Bucky down the hall while the others follow behind.

They stop in front of the bookcase at the end.

“It _can’t_ really be that simple,” Tony says, disbelieving. Steve shares a look with Bucky before he moves to the side, pressing his hands to the old wood and giving it a _push_ -

The bookshelf _slides_ forward and a cool draft flows out from behind it.

“ _Well I’ll be damned_ ,” Sam says, and Steve moves to stand in front of the stairs that descend into darkness.

“Let’s go,” Steve orders, and takes the first step, quickly picking up the pace when a dim light appears up ahead as soon as he’s reached the bottom step.

\--

“ _-ant it done quickly._ ”

“ _Sir._ ”

“ _Before they get here._ ”

James wakes slowly, but keeps his eyes closed and keeps himself still, trying to pull himself together from the daze-

“- _a surprise for that American and his **friends**_ -”

He subtly tries to test his bonds, flexing just enough to find out that he _can’t_ break them.

“Begin.”

A machine _whir_ s, cold and familiar and James’ eyes snap open wide, straining against his bonds in earnest, wings struggling-

“Don’t-!” he gets out.

He hears the electricity _spark_ , sees a man standing up on a railing running the width of the room, poised, hands behind his back and brown wings still, a glass over one eye.

He’ll find no mercy here, James knows he won’t, but he still yells-

“ _ **STOP-!**_ ”

The machine comes down and he _screams_ , _pained_ and _**desperate** ,_ _**because Steve will**_ -

-

His last thoughts are of Bucky.

Bucky will protect Steve from him.

-

The world goes white.


	41. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY.  
> Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68I3j2luW64  
> Appropriate, right? I know I'm terrible. But apparently Sebastian was listening to this or one of the tracks from this while working on CATWS to help get into character, so he's partly just as bad.

“ _Scatter!_ ” Steve orders, dodging a bright blue plasma blast as they all leap out of the way, Bucky and Clint on his side of the hall and the rest of the team on the other. Bucky’s eyes go wide for all of a second before they narrow and he pulls out a gun, aiming-

Clint grabs him around the waist and _pulls_ just as the shot goes off, barely avoiding another blast while Steve dives forward, rolling and coming up with his shield just in time to block _another_.

“ _Guess we know what they were using the scepter readings for_ ,” Clint grunts, ducking and rolling before firing an arrow, the plasma blast disintegrating it.

Steve’s eyes dart around and he rolls again, blocking another blast before leaping up and running, bashing his shield into one of the agents as more filter out into the hall.

“ _Go!_ ” Stark yells, voice distorted through his helmet. He fires his repulsors at the incoming agents, delaying them for half a minute. “ _We’ll catch up!_ ”

Bucky catches his eye and Steve nods.

Clint stands and fires off three arrows to cover them while they run for the next door, getting it open and slamming it shut it behind them before sprinting down the next hall.

\--

Steve throws his shield and takes out four agents three halls later. One of the lights goes out when one of the Hydra agent’s shots goes wide when they fall.

He catches his shield just as the last two drop, Bucky reloading his gun.

Steve glances at him and they keep moving, more Hydra agents waiting in the next section.

\--

Four halls later and they open and pass through another door, then skid to a stop, quickly scanning around the room.

This one’s different. Wide. Cavernous.

Steve glances up.

There’s a large light built into the center of the steepling ceiling and a railing a story up against the rocky wall on his far right.

Steve lowers his eyes back down and freezes.

Swallows.

There’s the skeleton of a chair in the center of the room in the center of the light, shining down on it like _‘x’ marks the spot_.

Steve glances over at Bucky.

A drop of sweat slides down from Bucky’s temple to his jaw and Bucky swallows, eyes distant, then drags them over after a moment to meet Steve’s.

He nods slightly.

Steve drags his eyes back forward-

A gun _fires_ and Steve just _barely_ dodges in time to the right, Bucky going left. The bullet hits the metal door frame behind them with a resonating _ping_ like a scream in the silence and-

Steve’s eyes focus.

Movement in the shadows on the opposite side of the room-

The gun fires again and Steve brings up his shield, hears and feels it hit, the gunshot sounding _closer-_

Steve lowers his shield just enough to sneak a quick glance over the top and his eyes widen and he freezes again, watches dark brown wings spread wide, one stretching half under the light and lighting it up almost _gold_ -

Bucky becomes a blur in his left periphery just before James _moves,_ darting forward across twenty feet of space like its _nothing-_

And Bucky’s foot collides with his chest, sending James _back_ -

James skids to a stop, wings shifting quick to recover his balance for barely half a second before he’s _running_ at them again, gun _raised_ -

Bucky raises his own and they both _fire_ , guns shot out of each other’s hands and then _Bucky’s **running**_ -

“ _Stop, Bucky- James, **stop!**_ ” Steve yells, stilted. Caught off guard. All of his combat experience and he doesn’t know what to _do_ -

James’ eyes briefly shift to his in the middle of throwing a punch, ice cold and hollow.

Steve’s heart thuds in his ears, the baseline to beats of _fists_ and _kicks_ and _wings_ meeting bodies.

“ _ **Bucky**_ -” he starts, gripping his shield, wings tense.

“ _He doesn’t know you, Steve!_ ” Bucky sharply cuts him off, shoving James _back_ again with a _push_ of his wings before pulling out a knife-

James mimics him and they both lower into a stance.

Some distant part of his brain keeps saying, absurdly:

_Bucky doesn’t fight like this. Bucky doesn’t fight like this. James does. Bucky doesn’t-_

Steve’s wings give a sharp _jerk_ and then they both _move_.

Bucky’s a blur of blue, old and new, and James is a blur of black, hollow, _terrifying_ because of it. He hasn’t been like this since-

White wings _collide_ with dark brown, feathers bent, ruffled, _destroyed,_ and knives scrape where they clash with tiny _sparks_.

Bucky spins, throws his wings up to shove up _James’_ and then hits James square in the chest with his elbow, sending James stumbling back. James’ face stays blank, doesn’t react, eyes focused, and he rushes _forward_ , sweeping a leg out-

It stops and swiftly changes direction _up_.

Bucky throws his head back to avoid James’ boot from colliding with his chin and James darts in close with his knife. Bucky parries it with his left arm, sparks _flaring_ again before James _spins_ and kicks _Bucky_ square in the chest, sending him _sprawling **back**_ , wings flaring _wide_ -

Steve stares, white noise in his ears and heart thudding fast in his chest.

But somehow he can still hear them hitting each other, can hear the _whir of James’ arm,_ can hear Bucky’s steady hits, steady in their _unpredictability_ just like-

_**They’re the same.** _

Bucky rolls with the momentum and flips back on both hands, grabs one of the guns off of the ground mid-flip and raises it, aims, eyes almost as empty as _**James’**_ -

_They’re the same._

_**Bucky’s going to** -_

_**James**_ -

Steve _moves._

The movies he’s seen got it right, the world _does_ slow, and-

Bucky freezes, eyes widening-

Steve spreads his arms, legs, and wings wide, blocking, opens his mouth to say-

A gun goes off, loud in the sudden silence.

Steve blinks, words falling away, the gunshot echoing in his ears like in a canyon, and stares at Bucky’s face, watches it morph into an expression Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen on it before.

All his life, Steve realizes, and he’s never seen Bucky look horrified.

Not even during the war-

Steve _coughs_ , something warm coming up the back of his throat and coating his lips, filling his mouth enough to taste like-

He looks down.

Oh.

Steve coughs again, raising a hand to the center of his chest while his wings slowly lower like dead weights and he falls back-

Something _clatters_ to the ground-

Arms catch him, one hard, both stiff but-...

_But gentle-_

He catches a brief glimpse of light, ice blue eyes before everything goes-

-

It lowers the target down, careful, not sure why it-

It lowers itself to its knees, rests the target’s head in its lap, not sure why it’s being-

It stares at the target’s face.

It does not need to be careful. ‘Careful’ does not exist for completed missions. But the target-

The eyes are closed, red on the lips, trailing small down over the chin, flecks of red on pale skin-

Mission: Success ( _ ~~Self-appointed-~~_ )

It stares.

“Steve,” it vaguely hears.

It stares.

“ _Steve_.”

It traces two fingers along the target’s cheek, through sweat and red-

“ _ **Steve.**_ ”

Its wings jolt, head snapping up.

The Other is still, eyes staring down at the Target, lips barely parted.

The Other did not speak-

Its eyes widen, slowly dropping back down.

It traces its finger back through the red, backs of its eyes _burning_ -

Why?

“ _ **Steve**_ ,” it says; it’s _saying_ -

Clapping.

The Other’s wings jolt, head slowly turning.

It doesn’t look, stares down at-

“Very good,” a voice says, accented, slowly approaching.

Voice Recognition: Master. Programmer. _Handler_ -

“Very good, indeed.”

“You-” the Other starts, voice hollow-

The sound of something _whistling_ through the air.

It can’t _focus_ -

Metal _clattering_ , light and far.

A tongue _click_ ing.

It stares down at Ste-

“I had expected better,” Master says, “You did put up an excellent fight. But, well...We chose the Asset for a reason.”

White wings twitching in Its periphery.

The red is soaking through Its pants, thick, warm, warm like _sunligh_ -

“I should-” The Other growls out-

“You will not reach it in time,” Master replies, “Now. Asset. Our work here is done. Come.”

It stands, lowers the targets’- (“ _Steve_ -”) head to the ground.

The Target’s breathing is weakening.

It stands, gun in hand.

The Target’s breathing is-

“ _Come_ ,” Master repeats. Repetition is impatience. Impatience is punishment.

It drags its eyes up, walking over.

The glass is missing.

What glass?

_The Target’s breathing-_

“ _You can’t leave Steve here_ ,” The Other says firmly (“ _Don’t let her push you around.” “That is difficult to do.” A laugh like sunlig_ -), “ _ **James**_.”

Master smiles, turning towards the exit.

_The glass is missing._

Status: Important-

_Why?_

The Target’s brea-

The breathing stops.

He stills with it.

Master-

The man turns back towards him-

He lifts the gun and _fires_.

The man stumbles back, eyes wide and wings jerking-

He fires again.

He fires again and again and _again and again-_

The man falls, hits the floor with a heavy _thud_ , wings _crumpl_ ing and _splaying_ -

He walks closer, stops at the man’s side, and fires again and _again **and**_ -

 _ **Click, click, click, click**_ -

Silence.

He stares, slowly lowering the gun.

He lets it drop to the ground.

He turns around.

The Other ( _Bu_ -) stares back, kneeling next to the _~~Target~~_ ( _Ste_ -)

Steve.

“Steve,” he says, urgent, beating his wings once _hard_ to push himself back over to him, crouching quickly at Steve’s side. He bends down and lowers his ear to Steve’s mouth, listening-

Nothing.

He sits up sharply, reaching down and plugging Steve’s nose, bending down in the middle of Bucky’s complaint to press his lips to Steve’s, blowing out a _breath_ -

Steve’s chest rises, falls.

Nothing.

He sits up again sharply, quickly pressing his hands to Steve’s chest while Bucky _barks_ out something he can’t focus on enough to understand, eyes and attention trained on _Steve_ -

He bends down again and listens.

Nothing.

He repeats it.

Nothing.

“Steve,” he says, pumping his hands against Steve’s chest. “ _Steve_ ,” he says, louder ( _Panic. Failure_ -)

He bends down.

Nothing.

He stops, staring.

Death. _Mission ~~Success~~_ - **FAILURE**

He slams his right fist down, _hard_ , yelling, “ _ **STEVE!**_ ”

Steve sucks in a _gasp_ of air just as the door is _blown_ off its hinges, sent flying and skidding across the ground.

Footsteps _thud_ and voices _shout_. Something _clicks_ and _whirs (arm)_ and he’s hauled to his feet, heated energy devices aimed at his face and his hands pulled behind his back-

But he watches Steve, watches his chest rise and fall.

And watches the red slowly pool wide across the sandy floor, and feels the weight of it drying on the front of his pants.

Steve breathes.

 _ ~~MISSION: FAILED~~_ **SUCCESS**


	42. Hard Wired

“So, what are we dealing with?” Tony asks, eyes on the holoscreen.

“Without scanning him?” Bruce returns, pulling off his glasses, “I have _no_ idea. What was he like at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility?” he asks, turning.

Tony looks, too.

“Grouchy,” Clint replies, arms crossed and wings still, “Quiet.” He glances to the door briefly that Natasha left through a few minutes ago. “Didn’t remember a whole lot past a week or two before we caught him.”

“So…” Tony trails off, looking back to the screen, “Basically how he was before, but... _less_.”

“You mean less of a person?” Clint asks, shaking his head, “No. Not exactly.” Tony turns back around, wings shifting. “The more Steve visited, the more he was...like he was before this happened.” Clint gestures to the screen with a hand and a wing. “But, obviously, Steve can’t do that right now.”

Bruce looks to Tony, raising his wings a little in question. Tony frowns, eyes shifting back to the screen.

“We should keep him informed,” Bruce says, looking back to the screen as well.

“ _Anything_ that will make him blink,” Tony replies.

James stares straight at the _hidden camera_ from where he’s sitting cross legged with his back against the wall, eyes boring into theirs whether he can actually _see them or not_.

“How in the _hell_ does he know where the camera is?” Tony asks, “Barton, how do you guys do that?”

\--

_...beep...beep...beep...beep…_

Bucky rubs his hands over his face, blowing out a breath.

“Wish we’d stop ending up here,” he mumbles.

_...beep...beep...beep...beep…_

He sits back in the chair.

“You goin’ to stand there all day?” he asks the room, sounding worn even to his own ears.

He barely hears her, feels the air displacement more than anything.

She takes the seat on the other side of Steve’s bed.

_...beep...beep...beep…beep…_

“They scan James yet?” he asks, because it feels like he should. It’s hard to focus past seeing Steve hooked up to five tubes with one shoved down his throat, again ( _again again again_ ).

“He almost broke Tony’s neck when he saw the machine,” Natasha replies. He glances at her.

“What stopped him?”

“Me,” she answers, looking back.

He inclines his head a little, eyes shifting back to Steve and watches his chest rise and fall, counting each one.

_...beep...beep...beep...beep..._

“You here to tell me it wasn’t my fault?” he asks. He sees her sit back in her own chair in his periphery.

He bows forward again after a minute, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his hands.

He scrubs it again and then pushes his fingers back through his hair.

It’s getting longer. He doesn’t care, _can’t_. Steve would-

“Two centimeters,” he says, opening his eyes and staring down at the floor, “And he would have died on the spot.”

_...beep...beep...beep...beep..._

“Two centimeters is a canyon,” she replies calmly.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut.

He knows she’s right. It _is_ a canyon, for James, for her, for _him_ , but-

“What if it-...” he trails off. She doesn’t stop him.

It feels like some part of him knows that, knows that she won’t.

Bucky blows out a breath, sitting back up again.

“I was going to kill him,” he says, looking over at her after a moment. Her eyes shift to his. “James.” She inclines her head slightly.

“I know,” she replies.

_…beep...beep...beep...beep…_

“Is that the kind of people we are?” he asks, doesn’t know if he wants the answer. If he already knows it.

_...beep...beep...beep...beep…_

She looks back to Steve.

Natasha rises from her chair and steps closer, brushing some of Steve’s slanting bangs aside, light and feather gentle, like Sarah used to when Steve was sick-

Natasha’s red catches the light and wispy blonde fades back into memory.

“Not everything can be hidden,” she finally says, looking back over to him.

“You can,” he replies.

They stare at one another.

“I’m exceptional,” she says, lips curving up just slightly, soft and-

He can’t read her, not like James, but he’s pretty sure she doesn’t believe it, like she’s repeating something someone _else_ told _her_. Maybe even _James_ had told her, or him. Them.

It’s been a long time.

_...beep...beep...beep...beep…_

She turns and walks back around the end of Steve’s bed, air displaced behind his wings again as she passes, heading for the door.

“Stop worrying Sharon so much,” she says, and he listens to the door handle turn and the blinds gently _tap_ against it when she pulls the door open, listens to them settle after it _click_ s shut.

Bucky pulls his wings in closer to himself, curves them around his sides and watches Steve’s chest rise and fall, still counting to the sound of the machine.

_...beep...beep...beep...beep..._

\--

“ _Sir,_ ” JARVIS starts.

Tony looks up from what scans he _did_ manage to get, but none of them are what he _needs_ -

“ _Ms. Potts is here to see you_.”

Tony’s wings jolt.

“Say that again?”

“ _Ms. Potts-_ ”

The doors slide open and Tony whips around.

“Pepper!” he lets out, jerking to his feet.

“Tony,” she replies, lips curving up to the sound of his stool coming to a slow stop behind him. It _thunk_ s lightly against the other work bench.

He rushes over to her.

“Now’s really not a good ti-”

She raises an eyebrow and he stops, coming to a stop in front of her at the same time.

“You’re shooing me out of the Tower?” she asks, crossing her arms with more grace than a swan, and he knows that’s cliched, but it’s _true_. Pepper’s got more grace than anything _he_ can think of, and that’s saying something.

His wings droop a bit.

“I know you wanted to meet them,” he starts, “But, well.” He gestures with an arm and a wing and a holoscreen materializes, James still sitting with his back against the wall, but this time with his eyes closed.

Pepper uncross her arms and turns a little, eyes on the screen. Her wings lower a bit.

“Oh, Tony,” she says, looking back to him, “What happened?”

“I learned I _really_ hate Hydra,” he starts, wings giving a sharp twitch, and starts to tell a story.

\--

Steve comes to, slowly, starts to gag while his wings beat a little against the bed, but this time, he _knows_ what _that_ is.

He forces his breathing slow and his wings still and reaches up, gradually working the tube out of his throat and sucking in a gasp of air, cringing when it makes his chest ache and then forcing his breaths slow again, wings straining a little against the bed with it.

No one’s making a sound, which must mean-

Steve opens his eyes slowly and looks around.

The room’s empty, this time.

“JARVIS,” Steve coughs a little, forcing himself to sit up with a hard wince. He looks down at his chest, feeling gently with his fingers.

Still healing. He should be okay in a few more days.

“ _Steve_ ,” JARVIS answers, “ _Shall I alert the others to your status?_ ”

“No,” Steve manages, “Please. Where’s James?”

“ _James is currently being held in cell eight on floor twenty-one_ ,” JARVIS replies, “ _Would you like me to escort you there?_ ”

“Please,” Steve answers, pushing himself up from the bed and holding on to the side rail for a moment, wings shifting to adjust the weight placement and regain his balance.

-

He takes the elevator down, or rather, lets _JARVIS_ direct the elevator down, trying to keep himself upright with a hand on the elevator railing and the other on the cane he relieved from the med room.

If Tony catches him with it, he’ll _never_ hear the end of it. He can already imagine the jokes he’d come up with and it’s giving him a _headache_.

When the doors open, Steve makes his way out and down the hall, following the small, lit dots that light up in a gradual growing line on the left side wall, coming to a stop when no more appear.

“End of the line,” he mumbles to himself, turning towards the wall and waiting, eyes briefly tracing the door seam.

“ _Steve_ ,” JARVIS says from above, “ _I cannot ensure your safety if you are left alone in James’ presence in his current state_.”

“I understand,” Steve replies, looking up. He manages a small smile. “I’ll be fine, JARVIS,” he adds, softer.

The door slides open after a moment and then Steve’s eyes meet James’.

Steve slowly makes his way inside, watching James watch him, who stands up from the floor but doesn’t come closer, doesn’t pull Steve to him or kiss him or ask him if he’s okay.

Just watches him.

The door slides closed.

James doesn’t back into the corner like a cornered animal, but he _does_ shift a little closer to it, angles away so his back is to it and not anywhere near bared to Steve.

It makes Steve’s heart ache.

He keeps it from his face.

“Do you know me?” he asks.

James’ wings twitch, just slightly. Steve wouldn’t have seen it if he wasn’t looking for it.

“Steve,” James replies, not blinking.

Steve waits.

“Important,” James finishes, wings shifting, just a little.

“But you don’t know who I am,” Steve says, quieter, eyes darting down to catch James’ fingers curling a little.

They stop.

No, he _doesn’t_ remember.

Steve takes in a slow, deep breath, lets it out the same and then nods once.

James doesn’t... _remember_ him, had his memories taken, _again_.

He tries to force down the fear, the anger, the _hate_ -

The sting at the backs of his eyes.

It’s hard, but Steve manages it.

Because he has to.

“Is there anything you want to know?” he asks.

“My punishment?” James returns, expression gone blank.

Steve’s wings _jolt_.

“We’re not…” he trails off, caught off guard, “James, we don’t do that.”

And _that_ gets him a reaction.

James’ eyes flicker back to life and _harden_ -

“And you’re to be trusted?” he _almost_ demands, tone going _sharper_.

 _Shit_.

Right. James didn’t trust him before. Not at first.

James’ spreads his wings fast and beats them _quick_ , closing the space between them in a blink and _shoving_ Steve back against the wall while his other hand twists the cane out of Steve’s grip.

Steve grits his teeth hard at the hard metal pressing against the bandages beneath his shirt.

“ _I’m to trust you not to wipe me for **disobeying?**_ ” James _does_ demand then, and when Steve looks, James’ eyes are-

Like he’s _elsewhere_ , but still _here, too_.

He didn’t act this way before when they first met. This is _different_. Steve’s not sure how to-

“ _James_ -” he tries.

The hand presses _harder_ -

“ _Cap! What the **hell** are you doing?_” Tony’s voice demands.

Steve’s eyes flicker to just over James’ shoulder between his head and spread wing, sees Tony’s face, angry, _frantic_ -

James’ wings give a slight jerk and his hand presses _**harder,** _ and Steve shifts his eyes back to his, locks them on James’ while his jaw clenches, can feel warmth seeping through the front of his shirt.

“I’m-” Steve starts.

“ _I’m getting you out of there_ ,” Tony interrupts, and Steve can vaguely see Pepper Potts step back while Tony quickly leans to the side, “ _JARVIS, get me_ -”

“ _ **Tony, stop**_ ,” Steve orders through gritted teeth, can see Tony moving in his periphery but can’t look again, keeps his eyes on James’, who’s staring at him like-

Like this is a test.

Now Steve just needs to figure out what _kind_ of test. He needs to _pass this_.

Just because James didn’t kill him before - and Steve _knows_ he could have, _**should** have_ \- doesn’t mean he won’t do it now.

Or worse, he won’t _trust_ Steve to help him, not like last time.

And Steve _**needs**_ to help him.

“ _What do you mean **stop?**_ ” Tony demands, the holoscreen dematerializing and rematerializing in his periphery, Tony’s voice closer, “ _You can’t even look away to **talk** to me or he’ll **kill** **you** -_”

_Look away?_

James eyes focus _intently_ on his.

Oh.

_Oh._

Steve looks to his right, straight at Tony, and the hand presses _**firm, pain** _ shooting out throughout his chest and **_more_ ** warmth _seeping_ -

Steve winces, but keeps his eyes on Tony’s.

“ _ **I said no**_ ,” he repeats firmly, keeping still.

They stare _hard_ at each other, Tony’s wings gradually rising-

Pepper Potts puts a hand on his shoulder and Tony’s head whips around, looking back at Steve and then Pepper again before his wings slowly lower, eyes fixing on Steve’s one last time.

The holoscreen dematerializes.

James’ hand slowly loosens up until he’s taking a step back, wings lowering. The pain dulls to a pulsating ache and the warmth slows.

Steve slumps a little and leans back heavily against the wall, eyes dropping down while he brings a hand up to dab once, light, at the blood soaked through the front of his t-shirt. He’ll need a new bandage-

Metal fingers come into view and Steve holds very still, watches them press lightly right over where the bullet wound is beneath his shirt and the bandage, barely even there.

Steve slowly looks up.

James’ eyes stay fixed on the red, fingers still barely there on Steve’s chest, and then his eyes rise to meet Steve’s.

Steve doesn’t say anything, just slowly lets himself smile a little after a minute of stretched silence.

Just a little.

James doesn’t smile back, but he _does_ move in a little closer, wings curved forward slightly like he’s protecting, rather than threatening.

It’s a start.


	43. They don't love you like I do

“So, you haven’t scanned his brain because there’s no possible way to do it that does _not_ involve him sitting in or lying in a machine?” Pepper asks, smooth, curious, and just the right amount of challenging.

He _loves_ her for it.

Honestly, she could give _Romanoff_ a run for her money; she knows _exactly_ how he works.

It’s a little terrifying.

He _loves_ it.

Tony turns towards her, lips curving up. “I’m already working on it.”

Pepper leans down to press her lips to his forehead and he lets his eyes close with a small flutter of his wings.

“You think James will be able to remember?” she asks more seriously, softer, pulling back enough to look at him.

“Well,” Tony starts, looking over at the holoscreen, “He didn’t eat Rogers alive. That’s something. Didn’t exactly treat him gentle like he had been though, either.” Pepper looks at the screen.

“I hope Steve’s alright,” she says, soft.

“He’ll be fine,” Tony replies, stretching a wing out and wrapping it around her side, gently tugging her closer, “Barnes’ll take care of him. Not sure if Steve’ll survive _that_ one, though,” he adds, teasing. Pepper’s lips curve up, so he counts it as a win.

“Speaking of,” he says after a moment, and her eyes draw back to him, “What does Stark Industries do in relation to prosthetics?”

\--

“ _I can’t **believe** you!_ ” Bucky lets out, pacing, “No, wait, on second thought? I _can_. Of _course_ you’d just _**stroll right into** _ the room of a guy _programmed_ to take people apart like they’re _toy_ _fuckin’ **dolls**_ -”

“ _Bucky!_ ” Steve cuts him off, feathers ruffled and just as _angry_. Bucky aims his glare at its original target instead of the wall, wings flaring, but Steve just glares right back.

Because of _course_ he does.

_Idiot._

“ _ **Idiot**_ ,” Bucky says firmly, “ _ **How many times** I gotta tell you not to go **lookin’ for trouble** before it fuckin’ **sticks?**_ ” he demands. Steve opens his mouth, but Bucky makes _sure_ to cut him off because he doesn’t wanna _**hear** it,_ “And what do you _do_ when I tell you? _Ya go lookin’ for trouble!_ ”

“I was _lookin’_ for the _fella I love!_ ” Steve finally bursts out back, accent comin’ out in _full swing_ , “ _He’s in there! Just like you were!_ ”

“ _He ain’t in there **right now!**_ ” Bucky fires back, and Steve’s jaw _ticks_. “Look, _Stevie_ ,” Bucky implores after a beat, wings lowering and fanning out a little while he leans towards Steve, “I get it, _**I do**_ , more than _anyone_ , but that was _fuckin’_ _**reckless**_. You _got_ a damn deathwish? _**Huh?**_ ”

Steve’s eyes drop to the bed before shifting them to the wall, jaw still tickin’, and it breaks Bucky’s damn _heart_.

“ _Steve_ ,” he says, taking a step closer-

“I don’t-” Steve cuts himself off, crossing his arms and wincing a little, but keeping them where they are, wings and shoulders hunched up, “I couldn’t do _nothin’, Buck_ ,” he finally says, looking at Bucky again, “You know I can’t sit back and do _**nothin’**_.”

Bucky sighs. “ _Yeah_ ,” he concedes, walking over and taking a careful seat next to Steve on the bed, wings brushing and feathers deflating, “I know.” Steve’s wings unhunch with his shoulders and he uncrosses his arms, turning to Bucky.

“ _Buck_ ,” he starts, and just by _tone_ Bucky knows he’s not gonna wanna hear this, either, “Back in the facility, you...I’ve never seen you like that before,” Steve says, “Not since-...well.”

Bucky keeps looking at him for a moment, at Steve’s eyes tryin’ to search his, before finally looking away.

_**Damn** Steve changin’ the damn **topic.**_

“Buck-” Steve starts.

“I didn’t want you to know,” Bucky cuts him off, crossing his own arms, now, “I didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, curving his wings in a bit.

Fingers gently touch his bicep after a few moments and he looks up.

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve says softly, eyes more forgiving than-

Than Bucky wants, deserves.

“You know I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t blame you for it, none of it, you _know_ that,” Steve continues.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, sighing quietly, “I _know_. That’s why I never told you.”

Steve’s brow furrows, wings shifting, and Bucky continues.

“I was gonna kill’im,” he says, and Steve _freezes_ , “I’m always gonna have that in me, Steve, and I didn’t ever want you seein’ any of it again. It’s bad enough I gotta live with it, but I didn’t want you to have to, _too_.” Bucky looks at Steve a moment before glancing away. “I know you look at me and you see your friend, and I am, I _am_ that man,” he glances over to find Steve still watching him and Bucky shakes his head, smiling a little helplessly, _brokenly_ , can _feel_ the cracked edges he’s always trying to hide-

And he _**hates**_ it.

“But I’m always going to be someone else, too,” Bucky continues, “The person who made James in the first place. The man who splintered because he _broke_. Hydra _broke me, Steve_.” Steve’s wings flinch a little, just slightly. Bucky shakes his head a little. “I’m always gonna have that darkness, and I didn’t want it touchin’ you.” Steve shakes _his_ head, now, eyes a little wet, and leans forward, presses their foreheads together.

“I just wanted to protect you,” Bucky whispers, lower lip trembling. He presses his lips firmly together for a moment, forces it still. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, as far back as I can _remember_.” He reaches up, trails his fingers down Steve’s cheek. “Even without all my memories, that’s what I _feel_. I _**know**_ it, down in my bones. I’ve always just wanted to keep you _safe_.”

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve whispers back, tilts his face up and kisses him, soft and sweet, angry and hard, resigned and...knowing, _everything_ all rolled into one. And it’s too much and everything he deserves, everything he _is_ _**finally**_ touching Steve, just like he didn’t want, just like he needed to have.

 _I’m so God damned selfish,_ Bucky thinks, and _**hates** **himself for it.**_

Steve’s wings are curving in before his face has even started pulling away, brushing up against his feathers, and Bucky lets the big black _loom_ of them blanket him in, welcome him home in all the best and _worst_ ways he could ever imagine.

 _Christ_ , _what has he done._

\--

The door slides open approximately two hours later and a red woman walks in, shining, _burning,_ like-

James stares.

 _I know you_ , he wants to say, but it’s nothing more than a feeling, a _pull_ at the center of his chest, like with Steve, but...different. He’s not sure _why_ or _how_ or _what_ makes them different, just that they are.

Different and the same, _like_ _him and_ -

James stands up.

It feels dangerous, otherwise.

She walks, fluid and smooth and graceful; a dancer, a danger. He wants to cut her up and place her into a box and slide it into the back of a closet, keep her far away. And he wants to bring her closer and wrap a wing her around like she’s a child, a bright point in the dark of his-

 _They don’t make a sound; they never make a sound; it’s too dangerous_ -

He winces slightly, can’t stop it in time and he _knows_ she sees it.

But she does not act. She does not cross the room and kill him where he stands, does not calculate and circle and close in like a predator that smells prey and opportunity, she-

She watches, and waits, and some part of him is...grateful, though he does not know why.

“You don’t know me,” she finally speaks, and her voice sends a shiver down his spine, hot and cold like a knife slicing through his skin, _familiar_ and _loathed_ and _loved_ -

“No,” he answers, because he must ans-

She is not a master, not like Stev-

He is not a master. _There are no masters_ -

James winces again, pain lancing sharp through his head and his wings give a twitch. He watches her eyes trace over the remnants of it before finding their way back to his, lingering for a moment before she turns to leave, door sliding open and closed with the barest _whoosh_.

He does not grip his head, but he does sit, and later he realizes that just like with Steve, he did not try to escape when she came in or left and he did not question her motives, whatever they were, just like he didn’t question Steve calling him the name ‘ _James_ ’.

The name he’s been thinking of as his ever since it left Steve’s lips.

\--

Steve comes the next day, lips curving up when their eyes meet and James does not stand.

Steve sits with him for hours (seven) and only leaves to use the bathroom and bring back food.

They share it, picking things apart with their fingers like soldiers plucked from fields, like strings plucked on puppets and harps, pulled taught and snapped back from where they may never truly escape.

He catches Steve looking at him sadly when they’re almost finished, food decimated like a battle ground.

He wants to say something, apologize for putting that expression on his face, but all that comes out is:

“I am death.”

And Steve’s face falls further and James wants to take the words and rip and tear them apart and scatter them to the wind.

“You should not be here,” he says instead, and Steve frowns.

“Where should I be?” he asks, and James’ wings give a twitch.

“Living.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, only a little forced.

He is good at acting, but not as good as Natalia. For this, James finds he is grateful ( _and somehow knows without knowing that Steve has never lied to him, not before this, not after, not now_ ).

“Aren’t I already?” Steve asks, licking some juice off of his fingers. James’ eyes drop to them without his say. “Aren’t you?”

 _Maybe_ , James thinks, _if you make my heart beat like this in my chest, loud and wild and unrestrained. Everything I was made not to be_. _Maybe I am living_.

\--

His Other visits him last, Bucky, the third in a trilogy of ghosts like past, present, future ( _Fire, Other, Steve_ ).

It is fitting then, that he is this James’ beginning, and this James’ end.

-

The door slides open some time later, when he’s got fire in his head and gold light flooding out around the edges of black wings, casting shadows in the gaps in his mind that feel covered in a void, still hidden but now shaken, cracks splintering and spilling _red_ and _light_ -

He stands.

Bucky stops a few feet inside, the door smoothly sliding shut behind him.

They stare at each other, and Bucky is the hardest and easiest of the three of them to read.

“You comin’ out of this room?” Bucky asks.

James narrows his eyes slightly. “That is not for me to determine.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, hands on his hips and silver glinting under the lights. For some reason, James thinks the tank top is something new.

“Isn’t it?” Bucky asks, crossing his arms, “It was your choice to love Steve.”

Love?

“ _I love you_ ,” _his lips whisper._

“ _I love you, too,” Steve’s whisper back-_

“Loving Steve was not-” James stops, eyes widening a little, feels phantom feathers meshed with his and his wings give a small _jerk_.

Bucky watches him.

“He’s waiting for you, you know,” he says; not judgment, not cruelty, not bribe, just...fact.

Steve is waiting.

James thinks Steve would wait forever. He does not want him to.

“I cannot remember all,” he says, soft and quiet ( _weakness)_ , “I cannot remember him.”

Bucky’s wings shift slightly.

“Yes, you do,” he replies, confident.

James’ mouth tightens.

Bucky uncrosses his arms.

“You remember him,” he adds, still looking at James, “Just like we did the first time. It might not all be there on the surface, but it’s there underneath.”

James stares back for a few moments before dropping his eyes to the floor ( _defeat- No_ ).

“I hurt him,” he says, still soft, still quiet.

His fingers curls into fists at his sides.

He looks up.

Bucky stares back.

“You did,” he confirms, his own fists tightening in James’ periphery, “You can’t do anything about it in here.”

James’ lips part slightly and then he seals them again.

He glances towards the door.

“I want-” James cuts himself off, wings giving another small _jerk_. He tightens his fists and stands, just a little taller, “I want to see him.”

He looks back to Bucky and they stare at one another again, reading things in depths part of him seems certain no one else will know, even the men that have been inside his head, depths that neither he nor Bucky can speak.

Bucky’s lips quirk up.

“That’s all you had to say.”

Bucky turns and the door slides open.

James stares at it for a long minute, and then, makes a choice.

James takes a step forward.

It doesn’t feel as new as he thought it would.

It feels…familiar.

Just like Steve.


	44. Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys. So, guess what. I got a job! Yay. I might've said that already. But, something else, too. My wrists, mostly my right one, have been giving me problems lately? And I'm pretty sure it's carpal tunnel related. So, I'm working on everything in small bursts because I shouldn't be typing _period_ but. Well. It's me. And a month seems like forever. So, yes, I'm still working on everything it's just in snippets at a time. I'm sorry things keep coming up but I'm determined to finish all of my stories.  
>  Thank you for sticking it out. <3 It means a lot, and I'm glad you guys like the stories enough to be so incredibly patient. I'm sorry for the delay.  
> Here, have some cuties.
> 
> Warnings: sex.

He remembers things in bursts, in falling stars that leave craters and devastation and lazy mornings spent in the sun.

Natalia is first, a falling meteor burning everything in its wake the farther it falls, the deeper it goes, leaves dents in him that he had forgotten but that come back slowly like bruises, flowers blossoming out of the rubble. He remembers her fire and steel and kindness.

But what sprouts up from its ashes, around the flowers and towards the sun he is beginning to understand is in him now, again, is Steve, green and gold and blue and red, blood and death and air and life.

James can _breathe_ again, didn’t realize he couldn’t, really, before.

Steve is the second coming and the first rays of sunlight when he’s lying on the floor, rolling lazily to stay in the sunlight paths the light gradually streaks across the wood, casting shadows with his wings and body that stretch on for miles like a fall in the Alps and the bodies littering the Earth at his hands. Steve warms him where those have made him cold.

He remembers Steve, his light and black wings like voids and abyss full of things he cannot fathom, and he remembers Steve’s warmth.

Steve is forgiveness and love and anger - a shield, even for him.

Guns don’t have shields. But he is not a gun anymore, is he?

-

He remembers Bucky last, still fitting since he is James' maker, the reason he exists.

He remembers Bucky as blurred edges and hidden shadows and laughter, as a gun to his head and a sense of...a way out, a way to no longer _be_.

He remembers Bucky as pain, and then as nothing, and then as suspicion and truce.

But the others?

The others come, slow, and James emerges from forced hibernation.

\--

Steve stops talking when he hears the door slide open and James frowns slightly, listening to him stand and pad over on bare feet. He lifts his head and turns it a little to look over his shoulder, sun warm on his cheek.

Stark is at the door with Banner trailing behind, eyes turning to him.

Steve turns to him with a small smile, a wing giving a slight shrug, and James pushes himself up to his feet and leaves the puddle of warm sunlight behind.

He does not remember everything, but he remembers enough.

-

“Now, hold still, and try not to...you know, kill me. You too, Papa Cap.”

Steve frowns, raising an eyebrow at Tony, arms crossed.

James stays still while Tony snaps his fingers, holograms appearing and scanning up and down his body, then side to side across the width of him. The holograms disappear and then a holographic display pops up, drawing all their eyes to it but James’.

James’ are on Steve.

There’s a 3-D imaging of a brain, points marked and highlighted in different colors.

“Alright,” Tony says, clapping his hands together while his wings shuffle a bit, pleased, “Let’s get Bruce down here.”

-

“Tony,” Bruce says, sighing quietly, “I’m not _this_ kind of doctor either.”

Tony waves a hand, shaking a wing at him with it. “You’ve seen enough to help.”

Bruce sighs again, but gestures the hologram over and brings it up closer to his face to study it after Tony shoots it over with a _flick_ of his finger.

James and Steve stare. Steve glances to James and James looks back.

“It looks like…” Bruce trails off after a couple minutes, drawing their eyes back to him. James’ linger on Steve for a moment more before shifting.

Bruce tilts his head, eyes roaming the 3-D scan.

“It looks like he’s healing at a phenomenal rate,” he continues, glancing up at Steve, “Do you or Romanoff or Barton have the S.H.I.E.L.D. files for the last time he was scanned?”

Steve shakes his head, shaking a wing out a little.

“No,” he answers, “Not that I know of. But,” he adds, drawing Bruce’s eyes back up to his when they shift back to the scan, “It looks similar to when Bucky was first scanned. I was in the observation room.” He feels James’ eyes on him at that and looks over with a small, helpless smile, shrugging his wings lightly.

“How similar?” Bruce asks.

“Almost identical,” Steve responds, looking back to Bruce.

Bruce nods and glances to Tony, and Steve looks back to James, who’s still looking at him.

James stretches a wing over, barely brushing his, and Steve smiles, brushing James’ in return.

“My best guess would be to just let it take its course again,” Bruce says after a few moments, shooting the scan back to Tony. He looks at James. “Since you’ve remembered enough to know Steve and at least recognize us, I would just say let your mind heal like it did before, but let us know if you ever feel any amount of pain in your head, so we can run another scan and make sure everything is healing like it should.”

James nods slightly and Bruce smiles a little, nodding back.

James looks to Steve.

“Okay,” Steve says, smiling back. He offers a hand out and James looks at it, taking it, threading their fingers together and looking back up.

Steve smiles softly and James’ heart skips, just a little.

Steve leads him away and he goes easy. He thinks it’s one of the easiest things he’s ever done.

-

They can’t go outside, not yet, so Steve leads him to the gym.

He grins over at James before letting go of his hand and launching himself up into the air, fans circulating air currents.

James leaps up after him, wings beating.

He chases Steve around the expansive gym, pushes off of walls and tries to catch him, everything starting to feel-

He catches Steve around the waist and they tumble, hitting one of the mats on the floor with a _whoosh_ of breath and Steve giving an ‘ _Oof_ ’. James rolls over and watches Steve push himself up.

“You remember?” Steve asks softly, smiling a little.

James grabs a stray feather and blows it off of his palm, watches Steve’s smile stretch further. James sits up and shifts over, throwing a leg over Steve’s lap and gently pushing Steve down, who was already starting to lay down before he even got his palm on Steve’s chest.

“I remember this,” James says quietly, and Steve’s wings flutter a little against the mat, smile quirking up a little into a small smirk.

“Oh, do you?” Steve asks, but James doesn’t think it’s really a question.

He leans down and kisses Steve, lips soft, softer than the caress of a gun across his lips, and moves their lips together, Steve’s parting for his tongue. Steve’s fingers come up to thread through his hair and then cradle the back of his head gently, like he’s _valuable_ in a way that isn’t his worth as a weapon or a tool, and James cups Steve’s cheeks gently, grinding his hips once and swallowing down Steve’s soft little gasp.

He strips Steve, slow, grabs the lube out of one of the wall compartments (“ _Sir insisted it be in every room,” Jarvis tells them, slightly wry_ ), and works his fingers into Steve, one at a time, listens to the soft sounds he makes and watches his wings and chest shudder on breaths when James curls his fingers right, Steve’s hands gripping his hair, his bicep.

He leans down and presses his lips to the center of Steve’s taught neck, shudders a little when Steve’s fingers comb backwards through his hair, wings shaking slightly.

One of Steve’s legs hook around his when he pushes in and they both suck in a breath and shudder. His wings push down into Steve’s when he pulls out and slides back in, repeats it, slow and gentle, and Steve lowers his head to look up at him, eyes soft in late afternoon sunlight.

James bends his head down while Steve lifts his up and kisses him, cradles the back of Steve’s head with his left hand and leaves the right braced on the floor, rolling his hips and rocking slow, steady.

He swallows every breath and sound Steve makes, gets lost in the planes of Steve’s body sliding over-warm and slick with sweat and lube against his, heat hotter than the sunlight on his skin building slow and sweet at the base of his spine.

James breaks the kiss to press his lips to the fading mark on Steve’s chest, near his heart, and when Steve eventually tugs his face back up, Steve’s eyes are soft.

He watches when Steve comes, watches his head fall back and his mouth fall open, his eyes shut, and then lets his own eyes fall closed when he follows, eyebrows drawn together and mouth open on silence.

He lowers himself to lay down on top of Steve, still cradling the back of his head, wings trembling into Steve’s, and burrows into this man made of sunlight, pitch feathers threaded with his and fingers combing gentle through his hair, and squeezes his eyes shut.

“ _I love you_ ,” James whispers, and Steve doesn’t even pause his hand, “ _I never forgot._ ”

Lips press to his head.

“ _I love you, too_ ,” Steve whispers back, voice shaking, just a little, “ _I know_.”

James curles around Steve and for once, is selfish, and holds onto Steve as his own.

-

“What are _you_ smiling about?”

Steve hums, lips curving up further. “Nothing.”

Sharon crosses her arms, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter. “James doing better?” she asks; a guess.

Steve’s wings flutter a bit while he stirs in the chocolate in his mug and she laughs softly.

“I’m glad,” she says, honest, and he looks over, smiling a little more.

“Me, too,” he replies, nudging back when she gently nudges a wing into his.

“Speaking of,” she says, after a moment, “Where is he?”

Steve’s expression goes more serious.

“Talking with Tony.”

-

“There was a man. Leader. Commander.”

“Not the one Barnes shot?” Tony double checks. James shakes his head a little.

“No. Decoy.”

Tony frowns, pulling up a hologram and entering in a few keys.

“What’d he look like?”

“Balding,” James answers, remembering, now, “One eye lense. Tall. Broad. Back straight.”

“So...like Fury,” Tony says, and James blinks out of a memory of a man standing above him on metal scaffolding up high to find Tony raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,” he answers. Tony’s wings shift a little, eyes going back to the screen.

“So. Hydra’s got their own Fury,” Tony says, sounding like it’s mostly to himself, “Well that’s...not comforting in the least. Speaking of which,” he adds, looking back over, “I need to call a meeting. But you’re free to go for now.”

James stands and goes.

He’s never needed to be told twice.

-

“Maya’s missed you,” Steve says, as soon as he steps out of the elevator. He blinks. Steve’s smile turns a little apologetic. “Sorry,” he starts, raising up a gray ball of- “I accidentally named her.”

James blinks again, wings rising a little.

Blue eyes stare back, blinking.

“Do you wanna hold her?” Steve asks softly, wings shuffling a little, and James holds his left hand out, making sure to be gentle when Steve just as gently sets the gray ball of fur into it.

James brings his hand in close, cupping the back with his right when she squirms a little.

“Maya,” he says, nose to nose with her, and blinks when she licks the end of it, tongue tiny, scratchy, and his wings flutter once.

He looks up and Steve’s smiling, and his own lips curve up slightly, too.

“I like her name.”

It’s quiet for a few hours, just him and Steve and Maya, but it can’t last. It never does.

-

“ _Pardon the interruption_ ,” Jarvis says, “ _But Sir is calling a meeting on the first communal floor in ten minutes_.”

Steve looks to him and then sighs when he pushes himself up off the floor, James following suit. He catches Steve looking over near his chest as they walk to the elevator, lips curving up.

“Bringing her?” he asks.

James keeps Maya tucked close, metal fingers an immovable cup for her to lay in, and nudges his wing gently with Steve’s when they get into the elevator, his own lips twitching up.

“She is ours,” is all he says, and Steve’s smile goes soft, the kind that had started melting the ice in him from the beginning.

But James knows he is right. She _is theirs_ , and they will keep her safe.


	45. Old enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Had job  
> 2\. Job turned sour  
> 3\. Job drained soul and creative muse  
> 4\. Put in two week's notice  
> 5\. Creative muse and inspiration for ideas slowly came back  
> 6\. wROTE SOME THINGSSSS  
> 7\. Trying to get new job  
> 8\. You're all amazing and I love you and I am so sorry life kicked my muse in the stomach and beat it down  
> 9\. Thank you ;-;  
> 10\. I really missed James  
> 11\. I'm also working on a sequel to Sharp Teeth and Bird Bones and a Winter Soldier Steve story  
> 12\. You're all wonderful
> 
> Warnings: sex

As it turns out, they are not the only ones to bring their _Maya_ with them.

Sam walks in carrying his again, gently scratching at the black fur of its head. James can hear it _purr_ ing.

Sam gives them a small salute before he takes a seat.

The others gradually trickle in, after, Natasha and Barton, Stark and Banner, until the table is full of Avengers with Stark and his callico at the head.

“I got word,” Tony starts, “I sent the description RoboBarnes gave me of Hydra’s Fury _to_ Fury, and within an hour, Coulson got back to me.”

Everyone sits up a little straighter in their seats.

Tony gestures to the wall and a holoscreen materializes with a man’s face: balding, monocle, stiff brown wings with a severe face.

Steve and Bucky both frown a little.

“Meet Baron von Strucker,” Tony says, looking back to the team, “One of Hydra’s main heads, after Red Skull. Coulson said he didn’t know much about Strucker’s division, just that it was similar to how Red Skull broke off from Hitler.”

“So he’s the Red Skull to Red Skull,” Sam says, frowning a little.

Tony nods, glancing back at the screen.

“Hydra’s own Nick Fury, head of their radical science branch. He deals in experimentation and hidden warfare, keeping under the radar.”

“‘Experimentation’,” Steve nudges, and Tony looks to him.

“Not looking for Asgard tech,” Tony says, “Though I wouldn’t put it past him,” he adds in a mutter, “But things more...well.” He looks to Bucky and James and both of their wings stiffen. Steve’s give an angrily little _flick_.

“Base locations?” Steve asks.

“Working on it,” Tony replies, “I’ll let you all know as soon as I have something. But-” he turns back towards the screen, gesturing with a wing, “Now we can put a face and name to our mystery Hydra assailant. The question is: Is he up to something?” Tony asks, looking back to the team, “And is he doing it alone.”

Steve looks to James, who looks back, gently stroking Maya’s ears with flesh fingers.

-

Bucky dodges a kick.

“So have you and James-”

Dodges another.

“No,” Natasha replies, fists up, and aims another kick-

Bucky blocks it, sweeping his leg out. Natasha jumps, jabbing a wing at him that he swiftly dodges, blocking her other wing aimed at his face with his own.

“Trying to avoid thinking of today’s meeting?” she asks, swiping at him again. He dodges, doesn’t answer. “You and Steve-?” she asks instead, doesn’t finish, lips quirking up in a small smirk when Bucky shakes his head, cutting her off and pushing forward with a punch. “Trying to make this a contest?” she teases, dodging back and throwing out another wing, ducking low and coming up from a downward angle.

“ _No,_ ” Bucky protests, maybe a little too quick.

They both break after another minute, covered in a light sheen of sweat and panting softly. She quirks an eyebrow at him and he glances to the side, glances back.

He _sighs_.

“I just want-” he’s cut off by red feathers _bashing_ into his face, throwing his own wings up to dislodger hers while he sputters.

“I know what you want,” he hears her say, smile in her voice, and frowns, parting his wings to watch her walk over to the bench to get her bottle of water. She smirks at him while she takes a drink.

Bucky shakes out his feathers and heads over to get his own.

-

“So, what do you think?” Steve asks, quirking his lips down at Maya.

Bucky frowns a little, thinking.

“Playdate?” Steve asks, glancing up with that cute, dumb smile-

Maybe they’re _all_ avoiding thinking of today’s meeting.

Bucky concedes with a slight lowering of his wings and Steve’s smile spreads out into a grin, reaching over to scratch the top of Nico’s head.

“Great,” Steve says, getting up and picking Maya up with him, “You’ll get to see your brother every day,” he says, brushing his nose lightly across her wet one. Bucky huffs a breath but can’t help his lips curving up, shaking his head a little.

“Haven’t changed,” he comments, and Steve turns his head to look at him, raising his wings a little in question like he really doesn’t _know_. “We’re still fighting Hydra seventy years in the future, have both been through shit, and you’re…” Bucky trails off, waving his free hand at Steve while resting his other elbow on the table, his cheek in his hand, and smiles. “Making playdates for kittens.”

Steve frowns a little, feathers ruffling up playfully.

“Playdates are very important,” Steve mock argues, “Aren’t they Maya?” he asks sweetly, turning his head back to Maya and nuzzling her nose. Bucky snorts a small laugh but his wings flutter a little, just…

 _Happy_ , through it all, regardless of the circumstances. Right now? He’s _happy_.

And he can tell Steve finally is, too.

“What are we gonna do about Strucker?” Bucky finally asks after a minute, and Steve’s _cooing_ pauses for a moment.

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve says calmly, casual to anyone else, but Bucky knows better.

And sure enough, Steve looks over and his eyes are as deadly serious as anything.

“We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, looking at Bucky, and Bucky doesn’t have to read his mind to know what Steve’s thinking about. What’s stopped him from charging into everything at the drop of a hat, these days.

What’s given him the ability to _pause_.

( _Him_ ).

Bucky stands from the table, waggles his fingers in front of Nico’s face and then trails the tips along his bony spine, rubbing them at the base of his tail before walking over to Steve, looking back up.

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching up to take Steve’s face gently in his hands. He leans up and kisses him, soft, careful of Maya between them, then pulls his head back after a minute, was going to say more but...well.

“Hey,” Steve replies, almost a whisper, lips curving up slow and gentle, old and young.

It makes Bucky’s heart _ache_ , for things he can’t fully remember but can _feel them_ , can _feel_ the years stretch back behind him, before the war, before the train, when times were still hard and living was even harder.

“Hey,” he whispers back, smiling a little into the next kiss.

“Not in front of the kittens,” Steve mumbles against his lips, and Bucky snorts another small laugh.

“Like you’re a prude,” he mumbles back, tugging Steve closer.

“I could be,” Steve tries, and Bucky pulls his head back, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine,” Steve relents, gently putting Maya down on the floor before stepping in closer and settling his hands on Bucky’s hips, kissing him again. “I was never a prude,” he adds. Bucky grins a little.

“Was never a saint, either,” he retorts, opens his eyes just in time to see Steve roll his own, lips curving up and joining Bucky’s smile into the next kiss. Bucky slides his hand down, slow, down Steve’s neck, over a collarbone, down his chest. He feels Steve shudder gently into it, feathers shaking with a barely there sound.

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve whispers when the kiss fades, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Bucky whispers back, keeps his eyes closed and just _breathes_ , breathes the same air as Steve. He draws both of his hands down, over Steve’s arm, his side, down to his hips, tugs them gently while he takes a slow step back and Steve lets Bucky move him.

They kiss the whole way to the bed, almost stop and move to the floor but Bucky shakes his head, looking up at Steve, kisses him again.

“Wanna do this right,” he says, soft and quiet against Steve’s mouth, and Steve shudders again, feathers rippling gently with it.

Bucky takes Steve’s shirt first, slides his fingers up under the hem and up the lengths of Steve’s warm sides, feels the ridges and valleys of muscle and ribcage and slides his hands up, Steve reaching to the side and unclipping it to help. Bucky lets the shirt fall and then kisses Steve again, leans in a little when Steve wraps his arms around the back of his neck and just holds him there, thumbs rubbing gently over Steve’s skin.

He presses his lips to Steve’s chin, to the side of his neck, to the center of his throat, slides his hands around to Steve’s back and lightly draws his fingertips up the center of his spine, feeling the dip between muscles, says ‘ _I love you_ ’ in as many ways as he can with his fingers, his mouth, wings gently brushing Steve’s and feeling them _shake_.

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve breathes, his name coming out shaky, and then Steve’s sliding his _own_ hands down, making _him_ shudder, and reaching for the clasps of his shirt, only breaking the next kiss long enough to get it pulled off.

Bucky backs up, barely a step once it’s gone, and looks at Steve for a moment, and Steve stares back while he reaches down, fingers hooking in the top of Bucky’s pants, slowly, gently pushing them _down_.

Bucky shudders faintly, nipples hardening with it, and reaches for Steve’s pants, reveling in the feel of Steve’s warm skin under his fingers while he pushes them down, holding his breath until they fall the rest of the way to the floor, until they each step out of their pants pooled at their feet and meet in the middle again, blowing out his held breath through his nose when their bodies press together, his hands on Steve’s hips and one of Steve’s on his side, sliding up and around to grip just below his wings, the touch almost _desperate_ , the other burying in the short strands at the back of his head.

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve whispers again between kisses, and Bucky swallows down the last of it, presses his tongue into Steve’s mouth and shudders a little when Steve _sucks_ on it.

He gently moves them back to the bed, backs Steve up until Steve’s knees hit the edge and then they part, barely, try to keep kissing while Steve moves to kneel on it and Bucky follows, wings twitching faintly with growing _need_. Steve’s fingers find them, gently carding and dragging _down_ through the feathers and Bucky’s _breath_ hitches, fingers finding Steve’s sides and sliding _down_ , petting him softly, trying to steady them both, panting faintly through his nose, Steve’s warm breaths puffing gently against his face.

They turn, just enough, and Steve lays down, Bucky following, settling between his spreading legs like he’s supposed to be there, like maybe they fit together once, shared a womb and broke apart from the same being instead of two different ones altogether.

He grinds their hips together gently, breaks the kiss half way through Steve’s soft groan to hear the rest of it out loud. Steve cards his fingers through his hair again, down the back of his neck to his shoulders, traces the seam of his metal and skin and Bucky pauses, pulling back just enough to look down at him.

Steve stops, for a moment, looking back, and then leans his head up, tracing the seam with his lips. Bucky shudders, _hard_ , wings shaking, and when Steve looks up at him again, Bucky kisses him, _hard_ , almost hard enough to bruise these bodies, enhanced and strong and so much different than how they started out, while not really being that different at all.

He kisses Steve and kisses him, and when he feels precome rubbing against his skin and Steve’s breaths have sped up, Bucky stops, reaches over to the nightstand with a distracted hand.

He finds the lube easily enough, and the condoms, and doesn’t bother with closing the drawer, just pops the cap open and shifts up onto his left elbow, looking down long enough to watch his fingers find their way between Steve’s skin and then he’s watching Steve’s face, watching Steve suck in a breath when he circles his entrance and then his eyes going half lidded before closing all the way while his head pushes back a little into the sheets, tight heat slowly enveloping his fingers, to the first knuckle; the second.

Bucky moves them, slow at first, eyes enraptured on Steve’s face, his chest, the little _huffs_ of sound he makes when Bucky pumps his fingers, the soft _moans_ that come out of him when Bucky _twists_ them inside, feels the way Steve clenches _down_ on them with a _jerk_ of his wings and gasped- _moan_ when Bucky crooks them, rubbing against that _spot_ , Steve’s hand gripping Bucky’s left arm hard.

 _“Please_ ,” Bucky finds _himself_ begging, cock aching dull and insistent and heart beating quick in his ears, panting softly, and Steve’s eyes crack open, find his, and he nods, letting go of Bucky’s arm to reach up and tug him down by the back of his neck into a deep kiss, Bucky letting himself fall into it easily.

He adds another finger with more lube, just to be safe, and then he’s pulling it out and Steve’s spreading his legs wider while Bucky _tears_ the condom package open and slips it on, letting the wrapper fall wherever it drops to.

Bucky shifts, lines them up, and then he’s pushing slowly into tight heat and he lets out a shaky _moan_ the further in he slides, eyes squeezing shut while he holds his breath. Steve’s hand grips the back of his neck firmly, grounding him.

And before Bucky knows it, he’s all the way inside, cock enveloped in Steve’s tight heat and his hips resting flush and comfortable against Steve’s ass.

He forces his eyes open and looks down, trying to catch his breath, and Steve stares up at him, mouth open a bit and chest heaving, too.

Bucky pulls out a few inches, slow, gentle, then slides back in, and they both suck in a breath, then Steve’s tugging him down for another, deeper kiss and Bucky’s never been able to say no to him, not really. He picks the pace up quickly, Steve’s heel nudging at his ass to encourage him along, and he pants against Steve’s mouth, sucks on Steve’s tongue while both of their wings _tremble_ and _shake_ , breaths punched out of him and moans not much better.

“ _Steve_ ,” he moans, pressing his forehead to Steve’s and eyes squeezing shut, “ _Steve_. _**God** , Stevie,” _can feel the heat building and building, licking up his spine like _fire._

 _“Buck,”_ Steve pants, sounding just as wrecked, their bodies moving together, Steve’s hips meeting his on each thrust and Bucky can _hear it_ , their slick skin slapping together, their bodies working together like they always have.

“ _Fuck, fuck, **fuck**_ - _!_ ” Bucky cuts himself off, breath catching on a strangled _groan_ when he finally _comes_ , gripping onto Steve tightly while his wings push _down_.

He keeps thrusting through it, and then Steve’s body is tensing not five seconds later, clenching down impossibly _tight_ around his cock with a half-shouted _moan_ of his _name_ while his wings strain up into Bucky’s. And if Bucky could come again right then and there, he _would_.

Bucky drops like a sack of bricks, or potatoes, maybe both, and pants heavily into the side of Steve’s neck, bangs damp and sticking to his forehead. He feels Steve’s hand come up, fingers drawing down the back of his hair and he _shudders_ , turning his face a little more into Steve’s neck while he tries to catch his breath.

“ _I love you_ ,” Bucky mumbles, holding onto him tighter, “ _Fuck_ , _I love you_ ,” and Steve wraps his arms and legs around him, stroking his hand down the center of Bucky’s back, between his wings, and making him shudder apart all _over again_ with Steve’s soft:

“ _I love you, too._ ”

-

 _Clinkclinkclink_.

He taps his fingers again.

 _Clinkclinkclink_.

“Come up with anything yet?” she asks.

 _Clinkclink_ -

James settles his hand on the glass.

“Full assault,” he replies, staring at the carpet, “Loud, soft. We wait,” he lists, “We flee.” He glances to her. She stares back, the calm before the storm. “We do nothing,” he finishes. She rests her forearm on the table, tapping her own fingers.

 _Softsoftsoft_ to his _hardhardhard_.

“Full assault, maybe,” she says after a moment, and he looks up from her fingernails tapping soft against the table. “We’ll discuss it with the others,” she decides, and James nods slightly, “Jarvis,” she adds, “Please schedule a meeting.”

“ _As you wish, Agent Romanoff._ ”

She stares off for a moment and he watches her, just watches. She reminds him a little bit of Maya, of a cat.

Her lips quirk a little like she knows what he’s thinking and she slants her eyes over, watching him right back.

They don’t speak. They don’t have to. They never have, not really.

-

“You want to launch a full assault?” Tony asks, eyebrow raised.

Natasha stares calmly back.

“Bold,” he comments, pointing at her, “Especially for you.”

Natasha flicks a wing, just slightly, but her expression remains calm.

“It could flush out potential targets,” she replies, hands resting in her lap.

“And force Strucker out of hiding,” Steve finishes for her, piecing it together, wings raising a little when he looks over to her. Natasha nods, looking back.

“As it is now, we can’t find him,” she says, looking back to Tony, “So, we’ll bring him to us.”

“By charging the bases and hoping he lands in one of our nets while trying to escape,” Sam says thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin a bit, “If he _does_ try to escape.”

“He is a snake,” James says, all eyes turning towards him, “He will try to slither away.”

“Then we cut him off,” Bucky adds, looking to him, “Then cut _his_ head off.”

“It just might work,” Tony says, crossing his arms. His eyes shift to Steve. “But it’s not without its risks.”

Steve looks back, thinking it over for a minute before nodding.

“It _is_ a risk,” he agrees, looking to the others, eyes landing on James last. Steve’s lips curl up a little. “But everything we do is a risk.”

James’ lips curl up a little in return and he nods, wing gently brushing Steve’s.

“Let us be wolves,” James says quietly, and Bucky’s smile is made of _teeth,_ his own wing brushing gently against Steve’s other one.

 

_Bonus:_

Bucky _hums_ while he works, waiting for the order for them to move out, polishing the barrel of one of his guns. He tested himself, first. He’s still at his best: first half of a song and all guns disassembled and reassembled.

He’s on his third song of the afternoon, an old beat he can’t quite put the name to, wings shifting a little in time to the-

 _Static_.

His wings still.

He stands up, gun half polished and left on the table with two soft _thunk-thunk_ s, and walks to the closet.

-

His eyes track his surroundings, people fluxing like a channel of fish, walking down the street. He takes a sharp left at the fifth alleyway and comes out the other end onto a quieter street. He looks left then keeps walking, heads straight for the row of phone booths barely halfway down.

He picks up the phone, dialling-

The speaker _crackles_.

Silence.

“Status report,” he reports into the phone, glancing up at his surroundings below the rim of his hat.

“ _Confirm_ ,” a voice replies, slightly hesitant. It makes no difference.

“Avengers. Full assault. Tomorrow, 1200,” he reports, and the line is silent again.

He can barely hear breathing on the other end.

“ _Understood_ ,” the voice replies, stronger now, an accent. A different voice. “ _Proceed as planned_ ,” it orders, “ _Follow programmed protocols_.”

“Understood,” he answers, then hangs up the phone and keeps heading down the street, looping around at the subway station and heading back for the Tower-

For the target.

The program feels old, rusting in his head, but it sits there, waiting like a bear trap ready to spring.


	46. See what I've become

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Death and violence

Natasha watches Bucky nudge his wing against Steve’s on the jet, the two of them bent down to look at something on Bucky’s phone. She watches James bend down slightly to look, too, sat on Steve’s other side.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” she asks. All of their eyes shift up and Bucky’s ears go a little red.

Her lips curve up a bit.

“Do you want to see the video too?” Steve asks, wings quirking up a little, “The kitten’s watching a goldfish in a fishtank,” he finishes, grinning. Natasha’s lips curve up a little more and Bucky’s eyes dart to the side, ears getting more red. She barely catches him mumbling to Steve: “ _That’s not what she’s talking about,_ ” and watches Steve look to him, frowning a little. Her eyes shift to James and she sees Bucky’s follow, then Steve’s.

James’ lips are pursed, just slightly, wings still.

“Are you...pouting?” Steve asks, feathers flaring a bit. James' expression slowly goes blank.

“No,” he replies, but threads his fingers with Steve’s and Steve smiles, soft and slow, and Natasha watches him grip James’ fingers back.

Bucky leans against Steve’s shoulder, and he _is_ pouting, and James leans against his other, making Steve laugh.

They hit the first Hydra base an hour later, and things go as planned.

-

“How many more bases?” Steve asks on their way back.

“Three,” Tony replies, lips curving up into a smirk, “We’ll hit the second one tomorrow.”

\--

The second attack goes as well as the first, all of Hydra’s agents dead or captured.

It doesn’t escape her notice that Steve looks...calm, maybe the calmest she’s seen him on a battlefield.

They all head back to the Tower and drop off the Hydra agents with the F.B.I. It’s the closest they have to a secure prison that isn’t their own.

\--

Bucky sets a box of doughnuts down on the counter two days later. Steve’s wings jolt a little, feathers flaring a bit.

Bucky’s still so _quiet._

Steve’s mostly used to it, but sometimes...

“You went out?” he asks, looking from the box to Bucky.

Bucky just shrugs his shoulders and wings, pulling his hat off.

“No one recognized me,” he replies, plopping down into the seat opposite Steve. “Besides,” he says, opening the box and reaching in for a jelly filled, his metal digits wiggling in Steve’s direction while he takes a bite, “Think we’ve earned it,” he finishes, muffled, powder all around his curved up lips.

Steve blinks, and turns to watch James as James’ arm reaches in to take a chocolate one, wings fluttering faintly while his eyes close as he takes a bite.

The missions are going well so far and everyone’s _okay_.

Steve looks back to the doughnuts after a moment and takes out a pudding filled one.

That’s reason enough to treat themselves.

\--

“Team Two, spread out,” Steve orders quietly, hears the faint traces of wings shifting fifty yards out.

 _“In position_ ,” Bucky whispers in his comm a moment later, followed by Clint a half second after.

Silence.

“Let’s move,” Steve orders, and they all start encroaching in on the base from all sides, Clint and Bucky up in their respective perches. The base lights make it glow bright in the night, an easy to find target.

It reminds Steve of 1943. Even the yells and gunfire when the raid starts sound the same, and the satisfaction he feels of throwing another piece of Hydra into the fire.

They take less prisoners this time. Most of the Hydra agents don’t make it, by the Avenger’s hands and their own.

-

“Two bases down” Tony says, Iron Man suit dismantling while the others head for the locker room, “Good job, team.”

“You leading us?” Bucky jokes, but one look and anyone here would know he’s being serious, too.

It makes Steve’s chest warm a little, that everyone else has gotten to know him better.

Tony’s eyes dart to Steve and then Tony shrugs his wings nonchalantly, stepping down the stairs to follow the others. “It’s a group effort,” he replies.

Steve’s lips twitch up and he pulls his helmet off, following behind James.

“ _Should_ we pick a leader?” Clint asks, shaking his wings out a little after he stops at his locker, pressing his thumb to the fingerpad and then putting in his combination.

Tony glances at Steve again before shrugging his wings, pulling a wrench out to fiddle with it, wings still, now.

“I just pay for everything,” he replies, pointing the wrench at Clint, “Make everyone look good while we’re out kicking ass.”

Natasha cracks a smile when Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes.

“ _Hey_ ,” Tony says, mock offended, “I know you like that uniform.”

“Oh, I do,” Bucky replies, pulling his civies out of his own locker, “Just not that you made it _barely_ _after I got here_.”

“Just being prepared,” Tony replies, eyebrows raised mildly, “Appreciate my forethought.”

Bucky snorts again, shaking his wings out while he heads for the showers, snagging a towel on the way.

“Guys, really,” Clint says, closing his locker, “Should we pick a leader? Can I nominate Nat- _Ow! What?_ I think you’d be _great_ at it!”

Steve’s lips curve up and he looks back when Tony looks to him again, then looks to James, closing his own locker and heading for the showers right behind him, dark brown, trusted wings taking up most of his view.

\--

“I hate to bring it up,” Tony says that evening, fiddling around with another wrench while Steve works on finishing his cereal, “But we need to plan for the eventuality.”

“Of?” Steve asks, swallowing and spooning in another bite.

Tony just looks up and gestures at him with his wrench, and Steve’s wings give a small twitch.

He finishes chewing his bite and swallows.

“The world’s going to find out eventually,” Tony states, looking at him, “I’m kind of surprised it hasn’t already.”

Steve glances to his bowl.

He _sighs_ , setting his spoon down.

“I’ll just tell the truth,” Steve settles on. Tony raises his eyebrows. “A press conference.”

“Stark Industries can mediate,” Tony supplies, “The Avengers will hold one.”

Steve nods and Tony nods back. They share the silence for a few moments before Tony walks over and takes the seat at the bar next to him.

He sets the wrench down.

Steve supposes that’s Tony’s way of saying, ‘ _You’re not alone_ ’.

\--

“Team One, in position,” Steve says a few nights later, crouching low behind a bush.

“ _Team Two_ ,” James reports in his ear, “ _Nearing site_.”

Steve waits.

“ _In position_ ,” James whispers.

Steve studies the building.

It’s difficult to see, dark as it is (even with his eyes), but if they can trust the layout, that should be a third story window he’s looking at.

“ _Operation Death Star is ready to commence_ ,” Tony says in his ear, a little giddy. He hears a quiet snort behind him.

“ _I can’t believe we’re calling it that_ ,” Sam replies, wind in the background on Steve’s comm, “ _My job is **awesome**_.”

“Alright,” Steve says, and everyone settles down, “This is the last base. Our target wasn’t at any of the previous ones, so if he’s not here, we’ll have to try looking elsewhere. If he _is_ , we can’t let him escape.”

Silence.

“Everyone ready?” he asks.

“ _Roger_.”

“ _Got it_.”

“ _He better be here_ ,” Clint says, “ _I’ve got a date with Pushing Daisies on Saturday_.”

Steve hears Nat whisper something in Russian and James huff a breath.

“Three,” Steve counts down, hears the faint stretch of leather as Bucky tightens his grip on his knife behind him, “Two. One. _Team One:_ _Go_.”

Steve moves forward, keeping low, and splits off from Bucky. Bucky heads left to approach from the West while Nat should be moving in from the East with James watching from his perch. Steve moves in from the North, Clint keeping an eye on the South from his own perch up in a tree.

They each clear the distance quietly, this base lit up just like the last, search and spot lights making it a beacon in the dark of the forest.

Steve stops at the edge of the clearing and surveys the area, the distance to the third story window. There should be a door right below-

 _There_.

Steve watches the sentry rotation for a few minutes, the guards roaming like gazelles, before quietly stalking forward, out of the bushes and into the opening provided, hears a double click in his comms.

Steve creeps up silent enough that James would be proud, then gets his forearm around the sentry’s throat and pushes a hand against the back of the agent’s head for a second before gripping the sides of the guard’s face and _twisting_ -

Steve hears bone _snap_ beneath fabric and muscle and skin and darts his eyes around. He carries the body back to the bushes and lays it down behind the cover of them before surveying the area again and then making his way over to the door, bending down slightly in the shadows while he pulls the device out of one of his belt pouches he used in the last raids, hears another double click in his comms.

Steve holds it up to the lock sensor on the door, holding his breath, waiting-

The light switches green and he twists the handle, quietly pulling the door open and glancing around before slipping inside.

He reaches up and taps his comm quick, a double click.

Steve pauses when he hears a quick staccato of clicks in his comm and then keeps moving, lips twitching up.

 _Yeah, yeah_ , Steve thinks, _You beat me by a few seconds, Buck, no need to **brag**_.

Steve gets to work on planting the bombs.

\--

Bucky places the last bomb and then starts heading up. He taps his comm three times.

He gets two single taps back and keeps moving up the stairwell.

He stops at the corner and presses his back to it, glancing down the left end and then the right. He slips out and quickly and silently crosses the short space to the opposite wall, slipping to the next corner and pressing his back to the wall, peeking around the corner.

It’s a long, lit hall, five doors: two on the left, three on the right, stairs at the end.

He taps his comm four times and waits.

Three minutes later, the lights flicker and then go out. Bucky reaches up and taps a button on the side of his domino mask, night vision flicking on.

He slips out around the corner, hears hurried and frantic voices and papers shuffling and footsteps, can see flash light beams zipping and darting across the hall floor and walls and ceiling, out of the rooms.

People start darting between them, carrying papers and bags and file folders, guns.

Bucky raises his own and starts shooting.

The agents turn their flashlights towards him and Bucky _moves_ , keeps mostly out of the erratic rays of light and _shoots_. He gets most of the ones in the hall down and starts to move up towards the first room-

One comes out swinging something metal and he blocks it with a _clang_ , metal striking _his_ metal, then slashes his arm down and buries his knife into the side of their neck, their eyes going wide while they _choke._

He yanks the knife out and fires the rest of his clip into the first room, quickling discharging it and reloading in another, spinning around and narrowly avoiding a flung out wing-

He shoots them, shoots the rest that come for him, reloads again, _again_.

A man walks out, tall, stiff brown wings and a monocle. Bucky raises his gun-

“ _Sputnik_.”

Bucky falls, knife and gun clattering to the floor.

\--

Steve plants the last bomb and then hears gunfire. He turns towards the direction of the stairwell and gets ready, keeping his eyes open and scanning the rest of what he can see of the ground floor for Hydra agents.

When the ones on ground level spot him and more flood in from the end hall, Steve raises his shield and _charges_.

-

He clears the ground floor, can hear Tony already outside with Sam cleaning up the escapees, the fighters, the ones that they didn’t get to while sweeping the floors. He heads up the stairs and keeps his back close to the wall, checks left and right at the top before darting across the short space to the opposite wall, pressing his back to it and peering around the corner.

Bodies on the floor, papers scattered in disarray.

It’s quiet.

He catches movement at the opposite end of the hall and then Natasha’s slipping out of the darker shadows into the lighter ones, and Steve steps out as well, raising a hand when her guns whip up in his direction.

She lowers them and they both approach the nearest rooms.

Empty, empty, empty, empty. They’re all empty or littered with bodies.

Steve meets Natasha in the middle, then starts to head for the stairwell she came from.

“Steve,” she says quietly, wings still, and he pauses, looking back. She looks up at him. “I cleared the floor above this before I came down.

Steve frowns for a moment, and then it _clicks_.

He reaches up and taps his comm three times, waiting.

Nothing.

He repeats it.

Nothing.

He takes a risk.

“Bucky, report,” he orders.

Nothing.

“Bucky,” Steve repeats, wings deadly still while he listens intently.

 _Nothing_.

His heart beat starts picking up, and he turns to Natasha when she nudges a wing into his.

“Roll call,” she orders into her comm, looking at him.

“ _Falcon.”_

_“Hawkeye.” “Odinson.”_

_“Winter.”_

_“B.” “Iron Man_.”

Silence.

Steve’s heart beats faster.

“ _What was the roll call fo_ -” Tony starts.

“ _Bucky_ ,” James says, cutting him off, voice quiet.

Silence.

“ _What happened_ ,” James says.

“I don’t know,” Steve replies, voice strangely steady.

“ _Well,_ ” Tony says, “ _I’ve got some baggage. Why don’t we ask._ ”

Steve looks to Nat and then runs for the stairs.

-

“If it isn’t Captain America,” is the first thing Steve hears Strucker say. Steve walks over, coming to a stop five feet away.

Strucker’s tied up, wings bound and on his knees in the mud. Tony’s got his gauntlet open palmed and facing the right back side of his head.

“Where’s Bucky,” Steve demands.

“On his way to the States, I’m afraid,” Strucker replies, smiling, “Not the one we wanted most, but, well, sacrifices must be made.”

The explosions go off in the building behind him and Steve _lurches_ forward, wings jerking, grabs Strucker by the collar and hauls him close.

“ _Where is he_ ,” he demands.

“Careful, Captain,” Strucker chides, head tilted slightly back, “That temper is showing.”

_Steve grits his teeth._

“Besides,” Strucker continues, smiling mildly, “If you kill me here, you will never find out, and I do not think you have the skills in torture to make me talk, even with _your_ repertoire.”

Steve pulls him closer, wings rising high-

“No.”

Steve stops, eyes darting over with Strucker’s.

James comes to a stop a few feet from Steve, icy blue eyes focused on Strucker.

“Ten minutes,” is all he says, rifle still in hand.

At that, Steve hears Strucker swallow.

-

They take him back to the Tower, scan for any and all bugs this time.

They sit him down, after, tie him to a chair in an empty room.

Steve watches James’ back, his wings as he walks inside, then watches them fade out of view with the closing of the door.

-

Strucker breaks in nine.

Steve doesn’t bother pretending some small, dark part of him doesn’t enjoy the sound of his screams.

\--

Bucky wakes slow, keeps himself quiet, doesn’t move. All that training was good for something, during the war, after, now. He tests his restraints and finds he doesn’t like the fact that they have _no_ give.

He listens.

Muffled sounds, voices, vehicles, coming through metal?

He takes a chance and cracks his eyes open, then they fly open wide.

He stares out the small glass window of their cryotube, straight at a crate.

How did he-

 

_A man walks out, tall, stiff brown wings and a monocle. Bucky raises his gun-_

“ _Sputnik_.”

 

He closes his eyes.

All that talk of possible overlooked programming and him being worried about _James_  and it was _him_.

He grits his teeth, wings twitching, the most they can do, and lets his head rest back against the minimal padding of the tube, trying to take a deep breath, force the panic back down.

The whole tube shakes slightly with the movement of whatever it’s in, and he tries to keep his breathing steady.

 _I’m sorry_ , Bucky thinks absurdly, let’s the slow numb of mission start to slide into place, keep him calm, like molasses, like familiarity, _I’m so fucking sorry_.

The tube shudders slightly again and Bucky lets himself drift, move with it like a ragdoll. There’s not much else he can do, and having a panic attack in a narrow metal tube will only make him crazy.

Crazi _er_.

-

Whatever they’re shipping him in doesn’t stop for a while, and when it finally does, he’s both dreading and glad it has.

 _James will protect Steve_ , he thinks, when he hears things shifting in what’s probably a truck bed, then cracks a sardonic smile, _What do you think, Barnes? Wanna bet James thought the same thing before they wiped **him?**_

The crate moves and Bucky keeps his eyes open, watches through half-lids as armed Hydra agents loom close then out of view to grab the sides of the cryotube he’s bound in, stuck with him like a damn bad penny.

 _Just my fuckin’ luck_ , Bucky thinks grimly, and then the whole tube _shifts,_ taking him along with it.

Again.


	47. Icarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY

James steps out of the room nine minutes later, and Steve gets a glimpse of the red splattered walls inside and Strucker hunched down and barely breathing, slow; gurgled.

There’s not a drop on James. That might be what saddens Steve the most. That he’s that skilled.

That he’s skilled in torture at all.

“They have an American contact,” James reports after he closes the door behind him, “He is here in New York.”

“ _That’s_ convenient,” Tony half mutters as he comes to a stop, arms crossed and wings jittery, “I don’t trust it.” Natasha gives him a look and Tony rolls his eyes.

“If they brought Bucky from their base in Geneva to New York, he may not yet be compromised,” Natasha says thoughtfully. Steve swallows, wings twitching faintly. Still. Have been for the last _hour_.

James looks to her and her wings go particularly still, arms unfolding.

Steve swallows again.

James looks to him.

“We won’t be able to find him in time,” Steve makes himself say, makes himself put words to what they’re both thinking, closing and then squeezing his eyes shut.

He makes himself take a deep breath, but it’s shaky.

“Did you get a name?” Clint asks.

Steve feels a hand settle on his shoulder and looks up, finds Thor looking at him, solemn but empathetic. Bruce looks much the same.

“Pierce,” James answers, and Steve sees Clint’s wings jolt and Natasha still.

“ _Alexander_ Pierce?” Clint asks, eyes a little wide. James inclines his head and Clint jerks his up towards the ceiling. “JARVIS, get Fury on the line, or send him a message, tell him Pierce is Hydra.”

“ _Already done, Agent Barton_ ,” JARVIS replies, and Clint’s wings twitch.

“I just hope it’s not too late,” he mutters. Natasha’s wing brushes his, just lightly, and Steve looks to James.

James looks back, then steps closer, slowly wrapping an arm around his waist. Steve feels Thor pull away and kind of wants to do the same with James, but Steve finds himself leaning into him, instead.

“Who’s Pierce?” Steve asks, and Clint frowns.

“You don’t know?” he asks, and Steve shakes his head a little. “He was the Head Secretary of S.H.I.E.L.D.” Clint replies, and Steve’s wings still like Natasha's had, a particular stillness. He learned some of the differences in the stillness of wings while growing up, but this one always comes at the worst of times. “If he is Hydra, then that’s probably-”

“How they got in,” Steve fills in the rest, eyes going unfocused while he thinks, “Unless…”

“Unless he’s been Hydra for years,” Natasha finishes for him, and Steve’s attention focuses again, more dread making the pit in his stomach heavier, “Which would explain their numbers inside of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“How far back-...You don’t think…” Steve trails off, the dread prickling like numbness up his spine, out through his wings, his arms, his legs.

Why. _Why_ is Hydra still-

 _ **Why**_.

“I don’t know,” Natasha drags him back out of his thoughts, “But Fury might know, if it’s not too late already.”

Steve’s wings jolt a little and James’ arm around him grips tighter.

He hopes not. They can’t afford to lose another member of their- their...

\--

Steve calls Sharon at the C.I.A. and tells her to stop by the Tower, trying to sound as calm as he can on the line. It’s not secure.

Natasha offers, but Steve volunteers to do it. He needs to be the one to tell her.

\--

-

-

-

Bucky doesn’t know where he is, even with the _amazing_ view of hardly anything through the same, damn, familiar little window, he hasn’t a _clue_ where he is. Well, except that the signs on the walls appear to be in English, so _that’s_ something.

Still doesn’t help a whole lot.

Especially since he’s still bound in the damn tube.

They’ve rolled him up and wheeled him out like a damn _fish_ , and all he can do is fuckin’ _watch_.

Again.

The cryotube _jerks_ to a stop and then _thunks_ against something else equally hard and sturdy and metal, small shockwaves reverberating up like he’s in a fishtank. It’s probably the stand, if he had to take a guess, cyrotube propped up with him inside like a damn little action figure waiting to be _popped_ opened, fresh out of the packaging for the second time.

Well. Maybe not the second.

The door _hisses_ open, airlock unsealing, and then hands are reaching in and grabbing him-

He hits the cement and doesn’t make a sound, wings perfectly still at his back, even bound, and he shifts around, managing to work himself up onto his knees.

He fuckin’ hates it.

He hears footsteps coming from the right and doesn’t bother glancing over. They’re all the same, every man who’s ever walked through that door. Here, in Russia, in Germany, in Geneva. They’re all the same. Every one. The hilarious thing is, they all like to think they’re different.

They’re not.

Expensive leather shoes stop in his line of sight.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Barnes.”

How should he play this? Stall for time? Wait for his friends to come? Wait it out as long as he can before they wipe him and send his mind back to the dark ages? He could. He knows Steve will come for him. The only time he didn’t-

Well.

Honestly, Bucky couldn’t blame him for that one. It was a pretty big drop. He probably…

He would’ve thought the same. Hell, he _did_ until he realized he was still alive and not _actually_ in Hell.

‘Course, that’s when it really _became_ _Hell_ , and then they told him Steve had-

Bucky sits up a little more and then _spits_ , watches the clear-white fluid slide down the curve of expensive brown leather. His vision spots when a big black boot kicks the side of his face, his wings jolting, just slightly. He stretches his mouth wide, _cracks_ his jaw and spits the blood out to the side.

No sense scrambling his brains more than they’re already gonna be.

“My name is Alexander Pierce,” the man in front of him continues, dusty gray wings barely raised from touching the floor, “And I’ll be your new handler.”

Bucky smirks sharp and ducks his head, strangling and smothering the laugh trying to build up in his chest.

It feels a little hysterical.

Wouldn’t be a surprise.

He and hysteria are very old friends.

\--

Sharon blows out a quiet breath, hands clasped together between her knees.

Steve waits, wings still while hers give faint twitches.

“There’s nothing?” she asks, looking up at him.

Steve shakes his head a little, dropping his eyes. He feels a hand on his a moment later and looks back up.

Sharon looks at him for a long moment, eyes hardening to resolve.

“We’ll find him,” she says, “One way or another.”

“I’m more worried he’s going to find _us_ ,” Steve finds himself saying, and her resolve cracks a little, but she closes it off with her closing eyes, lips flattening briefly.

“We’ll find him,” she repeats, and he lets himself believe it.

It’s not hard. One way or another, they _will_ eventually find each other, be it by a rescue or Bucky’s- Bucky’s mission. Hydra wouldn’t take him and _not_ -...not utilize him.

Steve turns his hand and grips hers, and she grips his right back.

\--

“Now,” Pierce says while they strap Bucky in. He’s pretty sure the stars he’s seein’ are actually because of the drugs and _not_ because he’s imagining Steve. _God, he’d never imagine Steve here._

He’s pretty sure the severe lack of fear and hysteria are because of the drugs too.

“From my understanding, you haven’t been wiped in a good, long while,” Pierce continues, oblivious to the stars Bucky’s imagining _pegging_ him in the back of the head like bullets, “So it’s been advised to me that we do this in layers.” Bucky stares off up towards the ceiling while the techs adjust the straps, body shifting slightly when they _jerk_ them tightly into place, wings still bound. “But before we get started,” Pierce continues, “There’s someone who wants to see you.”

Bucky tries to keep the frown from his face. Even _picturing_ Steve here only brings up the vaguest feeling of fear. God, he hopes they didn’t get Steve. Or _James_. They’d _all_ be fucked if they got James.

Pierce taps something that Bucky’s slanted eyes can’t quite see and then steps aside, and Bucky hears-

“ _Sergeant Barnes_.”

And an old _chill_ runs up his spine before his body freezes. He slowly turns his head to the left.

 _Can’t be_ , he thinks, numbly.

Zola stares back.

“ _We meet again_ , _seventy-two years into the future_ ,” Zola says almost giddily from the laptop screen, and all Bucky can do is stare. “ _Nothing to say?_ ” Zola taunts, “ _But we spent so much time together. And we’ll be spending more time together, again_.” Bucky blinks slowly. “ _Well_ ,” Zola continues, _“I’m sure I’ll be spending time with your other half eventually, as well, and Captain Rogers. Very soon. I’m about to become a little busy,_ ” Bucky slowly shakes his head, “ _But I would always make time for my first._ ” Bucky shakes his head a little faster before _growling_. Anger seems to cut through the drugs just fine.

“ _You stay away from him_ ,” he orders, and Zola _laughs_.

“Now, then,” Pierce says, gesturing, and the technician turns towards their computer.

“ _I’ll kill you_ ,” Bucky vows, even while the machine starts up and he can smell ozone, electricity, “ _ **I’ll kill all of you**_.”

And then someone’s forcing his head back straight and a fuckin’ mouthguard between his teeth and he’s _screaming_ , more _rage_ than _pain_.

At first.

\--

Strucker shifts his hands as much as he can, manages to shift the bindings just enough to grip his thumb in his other hand.

He _yank- **jerks**_ it and groans shortly when the bone _snaps_ , taking a slow breath.

It was a risk, putting the transmitter in a finger bone. Fortunately, the Asset did not seem to be in the mood to draw things out. Just like they predicted.

He sits back, lips curving up a bit when the lights flicker then go out.

\--

Steve sighs softly when a wing gently presses to his then leans closer so their shoulders press together, too, looking over the maps in the glass surface of the table. James taps on a location and it gets added to the list of possibilities.

“Are you sure?” Sam asks, and Steve glances up, “About this,” he gestures vaguely. Steve’s brow slowly furrows and Sam raises his hands. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t try, but Steve, if they _have_ wiped him again…” Steve’s wings give a twitch. “He might not be the kind of man you can save, anymore. He might be the kind you have to stop.” Steve’s already shaking his head, keeping his eyes focused on Sam’s.

“I don’t believe that,” he replies, “James-”

“James is not Bucky,” Sam cuts him off gently, and Steve’s feathers bristle. He drops his eyes back to the map and stares at it long and hard.

“I-...” Steve trails off, shaking his head a little again before pushing himself to standing, “I don’t think I can do that.” He turns and walks off, leaving the two of them behind. James watches him go before turning his eyes back to Sam.

“I will take care of it,” he says, and Sam’s wings flare a little, eyes widening a bit with them. “If it comes to it,” James adds, before moving over to take Steve’s seat, looking over the maps and information JARVIS has been able to gather so far.

The shipping method would be particular for a cryotube, but it’s still vague enough that they can’t narrow it down completely. Maybe-

The maps on the screen flicker and then cut out with the lights, and James stands sharply.

“What-” Sam starts.

James runs for the stairwell with, “ _Strucker_ ,” before Sam can finish.

 _Should’ve killed him_ , a voice whispers in his head, and it sounds a lot like Bucky.

 _Sloppy_ , and that one sounds like a handler.

-

Steve’s just stepping out when his wing’s tugged sharply-

“What-” he stops, turning around.

He tries pulling his wing, the ends of some of his feathers caught in the elevator door.

“JARVIS?” he asks, tugging it a little more. Steve pauses. “JARVIS?” he asks again, looking up out of habit.

“ _Captain Rogers_ ,” A voice replies, and it’s definitely _not_ JARVIS. Steve’s body goes cold, blood freezing, and if he tries, he can almost feel the cold of speeding wind on his face. “ _It would appear I have caught you at a bad time_.” Steve _jerks_.

“You can’t be-”

“ _Sergeant Barnes said the same not too long ago_ ,” Zola cuts him off, and Steve’s wings _jerk_ hard, feathers tugging where they’re still caught.

“ _If you’ve touched him_ -” Steve starts, and Zola _laughs_.

“ _You will see him shortly_ ,” Zola replies, and Steve swallows, fingers curling into fists.

“How did you get in here,” Steve demands, nevermind how is Zola still _alive_. Enough of them seemed to have survived, though, and Steve’s not totally surprised, anymore.

“ _Invited_ ,” Zola replies, and Steve’s feathers flare.

Tony nor JARVIS would _ever_ -

“Strucker,” Steve concludes, and he feels like Zola would be nodding _primly_ if Steve could see him. Steve didn’t see much of him during the war, but he got the feeling Zola fancied himself, well... _fancy._ Fancier than he really was. “What have you done to JARVIS.”

“ _Locked him away inside his own protocol programming_ ,” Zola replies, which... _what?_

“You know that level of programming?” Steve asks, partly to keep him talking. He needs to- Stall for time? Can Tony even reverse this? _He doesn’t know enough._

“ _I know a great deal of many things_ ,” Zola replies, and a holoscreen materializes just in front of him. Steve _yanks_ his wing to him, holding in a wince when it tears out the feathers still caught in the elevator. Zola’s face forms on the screen, or a version of it, and Steve curls his fists tighter. “ _How about a history lesson_ ,” Zola says, and Steve swears he could hear the _smirk_.

Steve watches the screen, images starting up with Zola’s monologue, brows drawn together, and then his eyes slowly widen as the images continue.

And he comes to learn that history is not what he thought it was, not what any of them thought it was, and his heart sinks even though it quickens at the brief flashes of a familiar metal arm, and he…

Steve throws a punch at the screen and his fists goes right through it to the sound of Zola’s delighted _laugh_.

\--

James breaks the door open and Strucker _smiles_. As much as he can, anyway.

James keeps walking, pulling out a knife and Strucker smirks.

“I do not think you are going to get much more out of-”

And then he cuts off with a _shout- **yell**_ , one of his ears hitting the ground and blood flowing.

“ _What have you done_ ,” James demands, and Strucker’s eyes dart to him, face tense. His lips tick up again. _It distorts his face in an uglier way._

“Brought in a mutual acquaintance of ours,” he replies, accent _curling_ around the word, and James raises his knife.

“ _Hello, Asset_ ,” he hears, and James freezes, eyes shifting up.

Zola stares back and he-

James’ eyes widen.

He vaguely hears footsteps.

“ _James_.” His wings _jerk_. “Hydra agents are storming the building,” Natasha continues, “Where’s Steve?” James jerks himself out of his shock and glances down at Strucker. He whips around and runs back to and out the door, Natasha quickly following behind.

_There’s no time._

_There’s no time for **anything**._

_Steve._

-

Steve _shoves_ open the stairwell door, pauses when he hears-

He looks down.

Agents, lots of them, coming up-

“ _Steve!_ ”

He whips his head up.

“James!” he shouts back, spots James leaning over the railing ten stories up and turns and starts running up the stairs, hears the shouts and boots from below pick up, too.

He’s five stories away from James when the door to his left _bursts_ open and Steve’s wings _jolt_ against his back, eyes widening-

Tony’s own stare back, picking up quick to run with him up the stairs.

“Pepper?” Steve asks, slowing his pace a bit so he can stay close to Tony.

“Sent her up first thing,” Tony replies, bare feet _slapping_ against the cement. “Should really get the stairwell steps heated,” he says, panting, and Steve stops and turns after a few moments, scooping him up while Tony lets out a surprised half- _shout._

“ _What-_ ”

“No time,” Steve cuts him off, then runs _faster_. Tony’s arms wrap quick around his neck.

“ _No one hears about this_ ,” he says, and Steve’s lips manage a twitch up.

They reach James and keep heading up for the roof. Steve catches a glimpse of Natasha’s red when the roof access door _bangs_ open.

The footsteps behind them are slowly catching up.

They race up the stairs and then through the door, and the setting sun blinds him for a moment.

Steve sets Tony down at a run and they keep going, aiming for the edge of the roof, Natasha already in the air, wings fanning to keep her in place and guns raised, Hydra agent bodies scattered all around them, some floating red in the pool-

The door _bangs_ open behind them and they leap _off_ , wings spreading-

Natasha fires past them until they catch up and then turns after a moment to follow, bullets _whizzing_ past them. Steve winces when a few hit his wings but he keeps beating them, further, _further_ -

Tony _wheezes_ next to him and Steve’s eyes dart over, widening-

“Really should’ve brought my suit,” Tony says, cringing, a hand pressed to his side and red spreading.

“ _Tony_ -”

Tony’s wings _stutter_ and Steve reaches out and _grabs_ him before he starts to drop, getting his hands under both of Tony’s arms and beating his wings a little quicker for a moment to compensate the sudden shift, carrying him.

“ _We’re stopping near the bridge!_ ” Natasha calls over, and Steve nods, looking up briefly to judge the distance.

“Hang on, Tony,” Steve says, looking back down, and Tony gives a shaky thumbs up before he starts going slack.

 

 

_Bonus:_

 

 

“How do you feel?”

His eyes shift up.

“No malfunctions,” he reports.

The man smiles.

“Good, that’s good,” the man replies, “But how do you _feel?_ ”

His brows pinch together slightly.

The man’s smile slowly widens.

“That’s good,” the man says, and he refocuses, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Soldier. My name is Alexander Pierce. I’m your new handler.”

_Designation: Handler_

_Accepted._

_Self-Designation: Soldier._

_Accepted._

“What is my mission?” he asks, and his handler’s mouth looks uncomfortably wide-

Uncomfortable?

Soldier’s eyes dart up when he catches movement and finds a woman peering into the room from around the vault’s opening, brown hair and wings darker in the shadows. Her eyes look-

A man steps up behind her and peers in, too, hair black and white, wings darker in shadows, too.

Black wings. It reminds him of-

Reminds?

His handler turns around to follow his sightline.

“Ah,” he says, and gestures for them to enter, “The other assets.”

The woman’s eyes glow red briefly, like blood.

Soldier finds he can’t look away.

They remind him of-

Something.

He’s not sure what.

They just remind him of something (someone?)

No. He doesn’t know anyone with red.

He doesn’t know anyone.

He’s not anyone.

He’s-

“Your mission,” his handler starts, and his eyes jerk back up, “Is this-”

A man’s face pops up on the laptop screen and Soldier stares.

“Understood?” his handler asks, and Soldier keeps his wings still. He feels-

_Feels?_

“Understood,” Soldier answers, and moves to stand when they start to bring him his uniform. He notices the air then against the back of his neck. His hair feels-

_Feels?_

He raises his arms and they slip his uniform top on, fastening the series of leather straps across his front. It feels confin-

_Feels?_


	48. Tell the world I'm alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY GOT IT ESTHER; http://shaish.tumblr.com/post/93092043936/bornunderabluemoonbaby-kay-finished-fan-art & http://shaish.tumblr.com/post/92712739861/bornunderabluemoonbaby-i-know-its-bad-but-i  
> Esther did this lovely fanart and me, being me, FORGOT TO PUT IT UP. And then I got sidetracked like I do and KEPT forgetting to put it up but HA. HERE IT IS. Pretty Steve. ;-; And mildly nsfw? But not really.

“Hi, Rhodey,” Pepper says while Steve keeps wrapping Tony’s middle, glancing up to see her watching, her hand pressing the phone more tightly to her cheek, “I need to ask you for a favor.”

James shifts Tony up a bit when Steve gestures, moving the bandaging up a little higher before securing it. Pepper hangs the phone up a minute later and they all look at each other.

“We’re heading upstate,” she informs them, eyes continually glancing down at Tony while they work on finishing wrapping him, “Can we manage it?” she asks, the worry starting to creep in from her eyes to her voice.

“If we go in pairs,” Natasha says, glancing between the wooden boards covering one of the windows, a ray of light just barely missing the tip of her nose.

“What about Sam?” Steve asks, brow furrowed.

“They’ll keep him alive,” Natasha replies, turning her head to look at him, “Hydra isn’t big on prisoners, but they need him for the time being.” Steve looks back down to Tony.

“Maya,” James says quietly, and Steve glances over, watches his lips pinch and brows pull together slightly.

“We’ll find her when we can,” Steve replies, just as quiet, securing Tony’s bandages before reaching over and resting a hand on James' arm, who looks up.

“We said we would protect her,” he whispers, and Steve nods a little, brushing his wing against James’.

“And me?” Bruce speaks up, drawing their eyes, “Maybe I should...go underground. Until you need me.”

“No,” Natasha objects calmly, glancing out the window briefly, “We need you with us. You know how to blend in,” she adds, eyebrows rising, more of a question than a statement, and underneath that, more of a friendly nudge than checking her available tools.

Bruce lowers his head slightly, lips curling up. Her expression relaxes and she glances back towards the window.

“Natasha’s right,” Steve says, sitting back on his haunches, “You’re not just with us because of the Hulk. We need you, too, Doctor Banner.” Steve smiles when Bruce’s lips curve up a little more.

“How shall we pair?” Thor asks, stepping forward and resting his hands on his hips. They all look at him, next, from his wings to his cape.

He’s going to be a little harder to disguise than they will be.

“Well, first off, you’re going to have to change out of your armor,” Pepper says apologetically. Thor glances down at his attire briefly before barely waving a hand, and his-

His armor’s gone, _along with everything else_.

Pepper professionally keeps her eyes calmly on his face while Bruce looks casually off to the side.

Natasha has no such qualms.

\--

He lets out a grunt when he’s dropped on something hard and cracks his eyes open, blinking them open halfway, vision bleary until it quickly focuses.

“Where- _Oof_ ,” Sam cuts off, curling around his stomach, pain spreading like a dull brick dropped into the pit of it from the boot that just left an indent. He tries break the ties on his wrists and ankles but they don’t budge. Boots _shuffle_ and _thud_ and then there’s the sound of-

He lifts his head up, squinting a little.

The armed agents bring in a pet carrier, kittens _mreowing_ inside, unhappy, distressed. Sam tries to rock himself to sitting and gets another boot to his stomach for his efforts, curling back up on his side. The bootsteps recede and a door _bangs_ shut then locks.

Sam settles down for a minute, trying to take stock of himself.

The wings are gone, his wrists and ankles are bound, and the knives he had hidden on him aren’t where he put them this morning.

He glances over at the carrier, can see paws and small noses and whiskers peek out through the bars and then shift away like roiling water.

At least they’re still alive and he’s got company. It’s small, but it’s something.

\--

They sneak out of the abandoned building in pairs: Steve with James, Clint with Nat, Pepper with Bruce, and Thor with a ‘drunk’ Tony. ‘Rhodey’ turns out to be Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes, a friend of Pepper and Tony’s, and picks them up in what Clint deems a ‘ _soccer mom van_ ’.

“What happened?” Rhodes asks on the way, and Steve frowns.

“Hydra took over Stark Tower,” he answers, Rhodes’ eyes snapping to his up in the rearview mirror, “Zola shut down JARVIS and the defense systems. Shut us out.”

“Wait,” Rhodes says, “Zola. Why do I know that name?”

“Arnim Zola was a scientists who worked under the Red Skull during World War II,” Steve answers, and Rhodes’ eyes widen in the mirror.

“Why am I even surprised anymore,” Steve hears Rhodes mutter while shifting his eyes back to the road.

“Speaking of, though,” Clint chimes in, leaning forward in his seat, “Are we going to be safe at your house? If Zola manages to hack into JARVIS, he’s going to find out about you, if he doesn’t know already.” His wings twitch once.

“We’ll stop by and stock up,” Rhodes answers, “Then I’ll take us to a safehouse I have off the grid just outside of the city.”

“Sounds good,” Clint replies after a moment, leaning back in his seat.

Steve looks to the back where Pepper’s sitting with Tony and Thor and then looks over to James, reaching between them to take his hand. James threads their fingers together and Steve relaxes, just a little.

-

“Any progress?”

“ _No_ ,” Zola replies, irritation apparent even with his voice digitized, “ _The program known as J.A.R.V.I.S. has locked down the whole of the system and has disconnected all online access points._ ”

A pause.

“What do you need?” Strucker asks.

“ _Hook me into the core, physical mainframe_.”

Strucker nods, gesturing to the agents around them. “You heard him.” The agents scatter to search the building while another pushes his wheelchair towards the elevator, laptop secure in his lap.

\--

“Are you _sure_ this safehouse is ‘safe’?” Clint asks, looking around as they step inside.

“No one knows about this place,” Rhodes reassures, heading into the kitchen, “Not even Tony.”

“I’ve heard _that_ before,” Clint comments while Natasha breaks off to check the rest of the house. Rhodes throws Clint a look and Clint just shrugs his wings.

“And here I thought you and Tony shared everything,” Pepper tries to tease, barely a hint of strain in her voice. Rhodes quirks a small smile.

“Not _everything_ ,” he replies, and manages to get her lips to twitch up.

“It’s bigger on the inside,” Tony croaks, and everyone turns to look. Thor carefully maneuvers him down onto the couch, setting him down gently like fragile glass. Tony still manages to wince. “You guys _really_ need to watch _Doctor Who_ ,” he says, when everyone just stares, voice strained. He slowly collapses against the back of the couch like a crumbling mountain. “When this is all over, we’re having a marathon,” he sighs, eyes slipping shut. Pepper quickly walks over and gently takes the seat next to him, wings shuffling.

“I’m fine, Pep,” he tries to reassure, cracking his eyes open and wincing at both her glare and the pain. “Well. Mostly.” He peels up his tank top to take a look. “Nice patchwork,” he comments, letting it go and looking up, “Rogers?” Steve nods and Tony nods back. “So what’s the skinny?” Clint snorts quietly and Steve straightens.

“JARVIS and the Tower are compromised. Bucky’s still with Hydra,” Steve recaps, fingers curling into fists, “Sam’s been kidnapped.” Tony’s wings stiffen. “We met Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes and stopped at his home,” he nods over to Rhodes, “And now we’re here. You were shot,” he adds, lips curving up into a small smile after a moment, “But you’ll be fine.” Tony snorts and then winces again, curling inwards just a little before he stiffly tries to relax back into the couch. “We need to decide if we want to lead an assault,” Steve continues, “Or go covert. We need a plan of attack.”

“We could just _attack_ ,” Tony jokes, smirking a grimace, and Steve’s lips twitch up despite himself.

“We should prepare for Hydra to attack,” James cuts in quietly, drawing their attentions, “They will find us. _We_ track well,” he adds, looking to Steve. Steve’s wings stiffen but he nods, looking off to the side while he thinks.

“Will he be alone?” Natasha asks, making almost everyone jump just a little as she re-enters the living room.

“Unlikely,” James replies, looking to her. He hesitates briefly, which is strange to see. “He will be dangerous. None of you must hesitate.”

“I think we’ll manage,” Tony tries for light. James shifts his eyes to him and Tony’s wings sink slightly. James looks over at Steve.

“Be prepared,” he warns, “He is not like I am.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, anxiety trying to claw up from his gut. James’ eyes drop to the floor for a moment while he thinks.

“We were not...as hollow, as Hydra would have believed,” he eventually answers, glancing to Natasha, who inclines her head just slightly. Steve swallows, the implications of _that_...going places he doesn’t think he can be right now.

It’s quiet for a minute.

“Well,” Tony says, breaking up the silence, “Anyone wanna bring me a tool kit? And Rhodey, bring me your toaster and blender.”

\--

Steve crouches down by the window, looking up over the sill and keeping watch, shield on his arm, just in case. He hears near silent footsteps come to a stop at his back right and sees dark brown feathers in his periphery. “Can you tell me about him?” he asks quietly, briefly listening to Tony tinkering in the kitchen, “From before?”

James crouches down, feathers rustling quieter than his clothes do.

“He doesn’t want you to know,” James answers, just as quiet. Steve looks over at him.

“I might need to,” he returns.

James looks at him for a long minute before dropping his eyes to the floor, nodding.

Steve doesn’t actually know all that much about the Winter Soldier, he realizes, how he was before, how _Bucky_ was before, how James was. Not even that picture is complete.

“He was quiet, focused,” James finally answers, brows furrowed slightly in thought. He looks up. “Angry.” Steve stares back. “He had no...hope,” James continues, “Void and anger, loss. I did not know what it was called then, but he was...despair, rage, empty.” Steve swallows, the backs of his eyes stinging a little. “You must not hesitate to fight him,” James warns, “Even if you feel for him.” Steve stares. “He will not give you the same mercy. It does not exist,” James finishes.

Steve’s wings stiffen and a small shudder runs down his spine, eyes dropping to the floor. “But Bucky’s still-” he stops when James’ hand grips his arm, looking back up.

“That _is_ Bucky,” James says, eyes quiet but intent, _focused_ , “That is Bucky.” Steve swallows.

“But-”

“No,” James cuts him off with a slight shake of his head, and Steve tenses, “Bucky is not light. Bucky is not only laughter. He is shadows and pain, and-” James stops. Steve both does and doesn’t want to know what else James would have said.

The grip on his arm loosens and Steve turns a little more towards him, watching him with a weight in his chest.

“He will kill you,” James near whispers, shifting closer and raising his free hand to cup Steve’s cheek, palm warm. Steve’s throat goes tight. “Subdue him before you give him the chance.”

“Not kill,” Steve reaffirms, and James pulls back a little, hand still on his cheek.

“No,” he confirms, “If he wanted death, he would prefer it at my hands.” That weight in Steve’s chest goes cold and he has to look away, biting the inside of his cheek _hard_.

“It won’t come to that,” Steve says firmly, making himself look back to James, “ _It won’t come to that._ ”

James stares back, pulling his hand back and slowly letting go of Steve’s arm. He shifts to sit cross legged on the floor, feathers flaring out across the dark wood, darker, in the night.

“A tiger will not hesitate to hunt,” James says quietly, shifting his eyes to look up out the window, “I will bare my own teeth and claws for you.”

Steve stares at him for a minute before slow taking a seat next to him, their wings brushing and then pressing together as he settles. He looks up out the window, too, staring up at the stars.

“ _Please don’t kill him_ ,” Steve whispers.

“ _Not unless I have to_ ,” James whispers back.

They sit together and watch the stars, Steve with a heavy weight in his chest and James with a tightness in his throat that he hid with a whisper.

\--

He stops, boots near silent on the gravel, and raises his gun, fires.

The explosion blows the front door off its hinges and lights up the night.

He waits, then starts walking, men following in his bootsteps.

He steps past the doorway and quickly looks around the room, eyes sharp, focused, scans the furniture, the corners, possible hideaways, and looks for the targets.

They’re here. Somewhere.

He steps-

_Click._

**_Zzzt_** -

His left arm _spasms_ and he grunts when it becomes dead weight, quickly shifting his gun to his right hand-

Red darts into his periphery and his gun is kicked out of his grip to the sound of gunfire erupting from behind him and bullets hitting wood, metal, lights going off like briefly blinding sparks in the dark, leaving white impressions on the backs of his eyes. Before he can focus on his target ( _Red hair. Female. Codename: Black Widow_ ), she’s gone and another takes her place, wings almost as black as his in the shadows.

 _My face_ , he thinks distantly, staring at the man, and then reaches for a knife on his belt.

-

“How long before the StarkTech arm boots back up?” Rhodey asks, firing over the top of the kitchen island, gray wings lowered out of the line of fire.

“Ooooh, in aboooout five, four, three, two…” Tony hits the button and releases another EMP, peeking around the corner of the cabinet to see Barnes spin out of Other Barnes’ reach, left arm still limp. “Certainly is _lively_ for being almost one hundred,” he comments, quickly reaching for another EMP.

“Let’s just hope _we_ make it to one hundred,” Rhodey quips back, and Tony gets ready to flick the switch.

 _Last one,_ he thinks, peering around the corner, _Make it count_.

-

Steve ducks and glances over to watch James spin, he and Bucky practically _dancing_ , then returns his attention back to the Hydra agents around him, _bashing_ into them with his shield before unarming one and shooting another. Clint takes down the last two with his arrows and then they start to converge on Bucky and James.

 

_“If he comes, we can’t let him escape,” Steve says, “Thor and Bruce will guard the exits. Nat, Clint, Tony, Colonel Rhodes and I will try to keep him from leaving.”_

 

Steve looks and Thor’s still standing like a sentry in front of the back door, expression solemn, Bruce’s much the same at the side door. Steve looks back to the fight while he, Nat, and Clint keep moving in.

Bucky’s arm comes back online and James glances it with his own before pushing himself back with a beat of his wings, out of reach. Bucky stills and James does, too, and Steve see’s Bucky’s- no, the Winter Soldier’s eyes take in the room.

Because they are the Winter Soldier’s eyes, now, the remains of the fire from the front door reflecting off of his cold, gray-blue in the night, like daggers, like knives. Steve can’t afford to mistake the difference.

Steve takes a step, the eyes shifting to and landing on him-

And then a blue blur darts around the room and then Bucky’s gone, empty space where he just stood.

“Um…” Tony trails off after a few moments of them all staring, pushing himself up off of the floor with a strained grunt, “I don’t say this often, but what just happened?” They all quickly look around and then head outside, but they don’t find anything.

Nothing.

-

He holds in a grunt when they come to an abrupt stop, the hand on his arm quickly releasing it. He checks his surroundings while he also checks his left arm’s functionality, flexing his fingers.

“Alright,” he says quietly after a minute, not loud, not loud at all, even in the dark, “We’ll try your way.”

The boy crosses his arms and the girl’s eyes glow red like blood in the night, or a red circle reflecting gunfire on a shield-

He pushes the thought away and double checks his arm, still flexing his fingers.

One-hundred percent mobility. Complete working order.

Mission: Capture or eliminate all targets.

First Priority: Asset 01

Second Priority: Captain America, Asset 03-

_Alter priority assignments._

First Priority: Captain America, Asset 03

Second Priority: Asset 01

His wings give a slight twitch.


	49. Undo this storm, and wait

“What the _hell just happened?_ ” Steve demands.

“Language,” Tony quips.

“ _Stark_ ,” Steve snaps back, wings _snapping_ out with it. Tony throws his hands up, wincing, and Steve forces himself to take a breath. “Does anyone have any ideas?” he makes himself ask calmly, looking to James first.

James shakes his head slightly and looks to Natasha, who shakes her own.

“Something new,” is all she says, not comforting in the slightest, given their current situation.

He’s sick and tired of Hydra having the upperhand (and having it _over_ Bucky. _Using Bucky_ ).

“Seemed kind of like _The Flash_ , right?” Tony speaks up, drawing their eyes. He stares back. “Really? Comics, too? _Come on._ ”

“Tony,” Pepper chides, coming down the stairs out of hiding.

“It’s not my fault they don’t know good, if frustrating entertainment and literature,” he replies, moving to cross his arms and then thinking better of it. Rhodes gives him a _look_ and Tony’s wings fan the air a little in slight annoyance. “ _The Flash_ is a comic book character that can run faster than the speed of light,” he explains, turning back towards the group, “Though, the chances of _that_ being possible are slim. A teleporter machine is more likely to happen before _that_ does.”

“Will he be back?” Steve asks, looking to James again.

“Yes,” he hears, and they all whip around to find Bucky standing in the blown out doorway, just before that blue blur dashes into the room again and the world goes dark with a sharp hit to the back of Steve’s head.

\--

After caterpillaring his way over to check on the kittens (and cat), Sam examines the room. It looks more like it’s used to hold supplies rather than prisoners, but from what he’s heard from Steve about Hydra, they weren’t real big on prisoners ( _outside of for experimentation_ ). There’s a couple containers with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo on them, but Sam’s not currently in the best position to check out what’s inside.

He caterpillar crawls back over to his spot and takes stock of his situation, testing his bonds and thinking. He rolls onto his back and gets his bound wrists up under and over his feet, sitting up with a sigh.

Well, at least now he can grab a gun. That’s something.

\--

Steve shifts just a little, wings giving the barest twitch as he comes to. He works to keep his breathing deep and steady while he tries to listen and recall the last thing he remembers.

The others.

Bucky.

 _Blue_.

He focuses his hearing.

All he can pick up is water dripping, faint, on something metallic.

Steve risks cracking his eyes open to slits, trying to see what he can see, but he has to open them farther than he’d like when all he sees is eyelash blur.

His hands and wings and ankles are bound (he tests the give- none) and there’s wood slats beneath him. He can smell metal and wood and _wet_ \- Warehouse? Abandoned building? It’s usually one of the two.

He opens his eyes the rest of the way and slowly lifts his head, looking around.

Abandoned building it looks like, so far. A few papers littering the dirt layered ground in the corner, old and dirty, graffiti on the walls, faded yellow and red and blue, door straight ahead.

A scream muffled through the walls makes his head jerk to the left ( _Clint?_ ), back straight, staring at the wall. It cuts out a couple moments later and Steve listens intently.

A door creaks open and then shut and he can pick up the sound of footsteps fading down a hall, soft, like Natasha’s. A woman? Or a slighter man.

The footsteps recede and Steve focuses on them until they’re gone, then tries to test his bonds again.

They don’t give.

-

He hears a door creak open and footsteps enter, stop, a quick tap of the heel.

“Why do we waste our time holding them here?” an accented voice asks. Something near Bulgarian and Romanian. Younger than he is. Early to mid-twenties.

A pause.

“What? He is asleep. He will hear nothing.”

“How do you know he’s asleep,” replies his old voice, distorted behind their mask.

“I can hear his breathing and see his chest rise and fall,” the accented one replies.

Wings shifting.

“That means nothing.”

Bootsteps exit the room, lighter, quicker steps trailing behind and then the creak of the door closing.

James keeps his breathing slow and deep and his eyes closed, and subtly flexes his wings and arms.

His left arm is immobile and whatever is binding him is going to take more to get out of than just stretching.

-

Footsteps.

“The purple one knows little. Fears failure and a brother.”

He pulls his mask off, allowing himself one, liberated breath before focusing again. "Nothing about Hydra?" he confirms. She comes to a stop next to her brother.

"No. Nothing we do not already know. But the Captain-"

"Is a last resort," he interrupts, looking over at her. She shakes her head, lips slowly curving up, just slightly.

"You avoid the source of the answers you seek," she says, "That _we_ seek." He gives her a look and her wings fan almost playfully. Almost.

"The longer we wait, the sooner Hydra will realize," her brother chips in.

"We cannot be direct," he replies, slipping his mask back into place.

"Let me ask him," she says, nodding her chin towards the room he just came out of, eyes flashing red, "He has been awake the longest." The Soldier gives her brother a look at that who crosses his arms, wings shifting while he looks away.

"I wouldn't-" The Soldier starts.

"You are scared?" she cuts in.

"I am nothing," he replies blankly, though they all know by now that that's not true, not completely.

She looks at him for a moment before shifting her eyes back to the room's door. "Then you will not mind."

He holds in an annoyed sound, all of his...emotions, walking across the hall to the door and opening it, stepping inside, the sound of footsteps following.

"Tell me about Hydra,” he says.

His face lifts to meet his eyes. It's disorienting. He should have remembered this. He would have remembered this-

"What about them," Ja- his double replies.

 

_"Fuck," his lungs breathe out-_

 

"Who are they," he orders, ignoring the words ( _and the ones in his head_ ). His double watches him.

“Hell,” his double answers. One of the twins shifts behind him.

“How do we get out of hell?” she asks, and the double’s eyes shift briefly.

“Send Death.”

She frowns a little at that, glancing to her brother then the Soldier.

“Why do you have the same face?” she asks. The double doesn't answer. She steps forward-

A hand grips her arm and she looks over. The Soldier looks back, brow low, disapproving.

“You think I cannot handle him,” she surmises.

“I know you can't,” he replies. Her wings shift and he releases her arm. She steps forward and he does not stop her this time.

Something in him doesn’t want her to do this, but he says nothing and she crosses the room, kneeling down next to his double.

“You think you are Death,” she says softly.

The double stares back, unblinking, silent.

Much like the Soldier, she thinks, but different.

She raises her hands-

“Wanda,” her brother says, low and weary.

“I will be fine, Pietro,” she returns, red streaming from her fingers towards the double’s temple-

Both their eyes glow red while the double’s arms pull at the restraints, the bonds holding. The double’s eyes widen as he _jolts_ , head jerking back while he sucks in a hissed breath and then _her_ wings jolt, eyes widening and she _screams_ , falling to the floor while clutching her head.

Her brother’s there in a blur, helping her to sit up and cradling her close, arms and wings wrapped tight around her. He ducks his head and checks her before throwing a glare at the double, who stares straight ahead, eyes a little distant.

Pietro scoops her up and carries her out of the room, the Soldier staring at his double for a minute.

“Project Winter-” he starts.

“ _Soldier_ ,” they say in unison, his double picking up the thread, still staring straight ahead. His double has an accent where he has none. “Project files restricted,” his double continues, almost bored- no. Something else. “Seek out Captain America and destroy-” His double’s wings jerk and his eyes squeeze shut, muscles in his arm tensing, straining.

But he doesn’t say anything more. His body gradually relaxes and his eyes eventually open, staring hazily straight ahead at nothing. The Soldier watches him for while before turning to leave, closing the door behind him.

James’ eyes quickly focus, bindings _snapping_ behind him with barely a sound.

-

“This has not happened in some time,” Pietro says, setting his sister down in a rickety, plush chair. “Can you hear me?” he asks, cupping her face in his hands and kneeling down in front of her.

“I am fine,” she replies, a little shaky, reaching up to squeeze his wrists.

“What happened?” the Soldier asks. Pietro throws him a look but Wanda sits up a little, raising her head and staring straight.

“I saw…” she trails off, eyes shifting up to his. Her eyes widen briefly and her wings flare a bit before she relaxes again, gently pushing her brother back and standing up, still a little shaky. “The Captain is trying to destroy Hydra. You were ther-” The Soldier’s head whips towards the door before she can finish and he’s out it before Pietro can chase after him, looking to her before they both follow.

The double is standing at the end of the hall, the Captain quickly hidden behind a dark, raised wing, the double’s stance going defensive. The Soldier draws a gun and the double pushes the Captain back into the room, quickly pulling the door closed before _charging_ , dodging the shots fired at him.

She looks to her brother. “You must stop them.”

He slants his eyes to her, looking back and forth between them and her. “I thiiink I do not want to get in the middle of this.”

“ _Pietro_ ,” she says firmly, and he _sighs_ , wings sagging before he _runs_ -

The Soldier gets _slammed_ into one wall while the double gets slammed into another, both glaring at the other before shifting it in unison to Pietro. He holds his hands up, gesturing towards his sister with a wing.

“Her idea,” he says, walking back over to her and curving a wing round her own folded against her back.

“We are all trying to destroy Hydra,” she says, looking between the two of them. The door at the end of the hall is thrown open and they all look, the double’s wings tensing. “You. Soldier,” she says after a moment, and the Soldier slowly drags his eyes from the Captain to hers, “You were with them, in his memory.” The double’s head whips around, eyes shifting back to the Soldier in a hard _glare_.

“Bucky,” the Captain says, and the Soldier’s eyes dart back to his, wings tensing. “Do you- Do you remember us? Do you remember me?” he asks, “It’s me. It’s Steve.” The Soldier’s brow furrows a little and he stares for a few moments before standing up from the wall. After a minute, he slowly holsters his gun.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, voice distorted through the mask. The Captain’s wings still. “Do you want to destroy Hydra?” The Captain swallows before nodding, fingers curling into tight fists, brows lowering.

“More than almost anything right now,” he answers, voice low.

The Soldier stares at him for another minute before gesturing towards Wanda with a wing. “She will check all of you,” he says, then turns to go. The double rushes in quick, spinning him around and punching him hard across the face before shoving him up against the wall, pushing into the gun the Soldier has pressed against his ribcage.

He doesn’t say anything, just glares at the Soldier with his teeth bared before shoving away and walking down the hall to the Captain. The Soldier’s wings twitch a little and he slowly lowers his gun, watching.

While she does not entirely understand, she thinks he might.

-

“Oh, so we’re supposed to _trust_ them now?” Clint asks, head cradled in both hands. “She _scrambled_ my _brain_ ,” he accuses, raising his head briefly to glare, " _ **Again.**_ Something I did _**not want to relive, thank you.**_ ”

“She’s not getting in my head,” Natasha says, arms crossed and eyes fixed.

“Then we do not work together,” the Soldier says.

“Oh, _cut the crap, Barnes_ ,” Clint cuts in, feathers bristling, “‘ _Then we do not work together_ ’, we’ve been _working together_ for _months now. Living together, too_. You don’t need to _read our minds._ ”

“I don’t know any of you,” the Soldier replies, voice clipped, as close to anger as Steve’s seen him so far. He’s been watching Bucky like a hawk, looking for...well, Bucky, but...everything’s so much more subdued than it was before, held in check. It’s similar to how Bucky was, but it’s...off somehow, _skewed_ , not the Bucky Steve knows.

Knew.

Frankly, it’s a lot like James used to be, still kind of is.

So Steve watches him.

“What? You can’t trust yourself?” Clint asks, jerkily gesturing towards James with a wing. Bucky’s eyes shift to him.

“No,” he replies, “Especially.”

Clint sighs and drops his head again, squeezing his eyes shut. He leans a little into Natasha’s leg, who lets her feathers push gently into his.

“If you can’t trust him, can you trust me?” Steve asks. Everyone’s eyes shift to him and James’ wings tense at his side.

Bucky considers him.

That’s something, at least, even if it also hurts.

“I’ll do it,” Steve says, and James’ wings tense further, but he doesn’t say anything.

It’s silent for a minute, Bucky glancing towards the...twins, who exchange their own glances before the girl, Wanda, nods, looking back to Bucky, who looks back to Steve. “Fine,” Bucky agrees, shifting a wing towards Wanda, who stands.

“Steve,” James says, quiet and firm.

“I’ll be alright,” Steve replies, smiling over at him. He looks back up when Wanda stops in front of him, watching her kneel down a foot away. She raises her hands to either side of his temples and he sees red in his periphery while her eyes start to glow a bright shade of it and-

_Cold cold cold **freezing** can’t breathe but maybe it’s better this way if I lie here I can see Bucky again it’s okay I’ll see ma and Bucky and pa, even and it’ll be okay the world’s safe Red Skull and Hydra are gone it’s my turn now-_

_Awake soft lights rough sheets sit up something’s off radio door opens girl something’s wrong with the way she looks something’s wrong wrong WRONG run escape **run** -_

_Aliens can you believe it Buck? Team new team lies betrayal fight fight run fight they’re not so bad, this team, but I need to get away I need to see the world I need- I need my home but it’s gone gone **gone** everywhere I look it’s **there** but it’s **gone** -_

_Kate’s nice S.H.I.E.L.D. home? I want to go home this is home now but I want to go home_

_**Peggy** _

_Peggy please take us home I want to go home I should have died oh God why didn’t I die why am I here I shouldn’t be here I wasn’t supposed to be here I JUST WANT TO GO HOME I was going home but now I’m here and it’s not home but I’m trying to make it home I’m TRYING **I’M TRYING** it’s not home but S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t bad it’s not bad it’s a distraction and work and I can do good even though there’s a lot of things I don’t like all I have is work and myself and sometimes not even that but I’m TRYING we all do **good** -_

_Oh my God Bucky?_

_Bucky Bucky please please come back Bucky please it’s better with you here I’m so sorry Bucky I’m so sorry please God let me save him-_

_James_

_James I like James I like James a lot-_

_**James** _

**_I love him_ **

_Bucky Bucky loves me I love Bucky Bucky loves me too I’m so lucky how could I ever be so lucky something bad is going to happen but I-_

_We’re **happy.** I’m **happy. We’re happy we’re ALL happy-**_

_Oh God Hydra why is Hydra here Zola why is ZOLA HERE WHY IS ZOLA HERE AND NOT **BUCKY** I DIED FOR NOTHING **HE DIED FOR NOTHING WE DIED FOR NOTHING** _

_Bucky?_

_Please God let me save him why do I keep losing him I can’t_

_I will burn every last one of Hydra to the ground until there’s nothing left how much more can they take HOW MUCH HOW COULD I LET THIS HAPPEN I CAN’T STAND THIS I WILL-_

_Bucky please come back please I don’t want to do this without you please look at me like you **know** me I’ll start from scratch again I’ll start from scratch every time just **please**...please ** see me**_

 

Steve sucks in a large breath while his vision clears and then he slumps, firm arms catching him, one warm and one cooler. Wings settle around him like a heavy blanket.

“Oh, the things you’ve seen,” a woman says, voice hushed, unreadable, “So much…” she trails off, then the sound of shifting and footsteps moving further away.

Steve tries to get his eyes back open from where they’ve fallen shut but it’s so hard, he’s so...tired. _Exhausted_. To the bone. Different from how he used to feel, so much deeper. He didn’t know it _could_ be deeper.

“He would burn the world for you,” Steve hears the woman say. Wanda. That’s her name. He finally gets his eyes open and sees her slightly blurry figure over by Bucky and Bucky shift his eyes to look at him. “He has burned it for you once already. He will do it again.”

The arms around him tighten and Steve’s eyelids start to droop.

“ _He has burned it for you, too_ ,” he barely hears Wanda say in his direction before his eyes shut all the way and things go black.

The last thing he really thinks is: he hopes that it’s enough. Whether he means the world burning or what she saw being enough to convince Bucky to work with them again, he doesn’t get to figure out.

-

James gently strokes his fingers back through Steve’s hair, making a gentle mess of it. He glances up at the others: Thor with his arms crossed by the window talking quietly with Banner, Natasha providing comfort for Barton, Stark healing and wrapped up in Ms. Potts. The twins in their alcove and _Bucky_ -

He ignores the eyes on them. He does not want to talk to Bucky. He might kill him, and Steve would be sad ( _he_ would be sad).

So he focuses on Steve instead, on his breathing and the slight flutter of his lashes while his eyes shift under his lids in his dreams, and tries to ignore everything else.

If he manages it (he will), he won’t accidentally shoot Bucky in the leg when Steve wakes and they leave.

\--

Sam grunts quietly, hopping over to the closest container and lowering onto his knees, working his fingers up under the lid. He’s not sure how long he pushes and presses at it, just that he’s been sweating for a bit when he finally hears a satisfying _pop_.

He lifts the lid and looks inside.

It’s full of smaller containers, but after rummaging through them for a few minutes, he manages to find a knife.

“I have never been so glad to see you,” he says on a breath, pressing his lips to it with a loud _smack_ before tucking it into his boot and closing everything up, hopping back over to his spot on the floor in the corner.

He could leave, or try to leave, but he doesn’t know the layout of the base he’s at or how many Hydra soldiers there are. And if they’re keeping him alive, it’s because they’ll want to use him later, because the others _will_ come for him eventually, and Hydra knows it.

Besides.

Sam scoots over to sit next to the cat carrier and sticks a fingertip between the caged front. “I’d never leave you guys,” he says with a small smile.

So he’ll just have to buy his time, and wait.


	50. Organs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High guys! _**This is a relevant note to the story so I need you to read this.**_ This story is almost over! I can't believe it. I'm not sure how many chapters are left but it's down to one, maybe two, max, which includes an epilogue. I'm not putting up an official end chapter number yet because I'm never completely sure but we're getting very very close. But! I might be doing some oneshots set after this main arc of the story because I still have a lot of little notes left over for things that didn't end up fitting into this main story. _And_ I want to do a prequel of James/Bucky/Winter Soldier in the Red Room. I'm not 100% sure that will get done, but it'd probably be a three-ish chapter thing and I kind of _really want to do it._ I need all the Red Room things. 
> 
> So! Yeah. If you haven't seen or aren't following my writing tumblr, I said I was trying to finish up all of the current stories that are posted up, since they've been on here as wips for a long time, and their stories are just naturally coming to a close. This one is looking like it might be the first to do that. But if you want to see more of it, it's looking like there will _definitely_ at least be oneshots for all the cute stuff that didn't get put into this portion of it, and maybe even some angsty-cute stuff because I'm sure we probably almost all know how I am at this point. So! If you're interested in that, keep an eye out for it. I'll also most likely mention it on my writing tumblr (which is http://shaishwrites.tumblr.com in case you don't want to go digging for it in a past chapter) and link it there.
> 
> P.S. I'll also be working on things that I _haven't_ posted up yet as well as witch!Bucky, which is posted. I'm not including that in this goal to get current wips completed by Christmas. The wips included in this goal are: Black and/or White, He wears a suit like it's 1945, Swallow the Sun, and Last of the Wilds (and whether those last two wrap up as soon as the first two are looking to do, I don't know, but I'm trying).
> 
> So yeah, just an update for you guys so you know what's going on. Thank you for reading. I know author's notes can sometimes be all _hnnnng just let me read the story nooooow_. 
> 
> Which, speaking of, here you go.

As soon as Steve’s awake, they put the rest of a plan together with his input. Steve and Bucky...debate, often. James thinks it is a good thing, a sign that Bucky is still inside, trying to put himself together again even if he might not notice it. James didn't for a long time. It's foolish to think Bucky operates the same as he does, but this one thing, maybe, Steve can have.

Bucky breaks down Hydra’s chain of command, that he knows. James adds his own knowledge and together they put a picture together.

Lukin, their former master, was most likely the one to bring them to Hydra, _loan_ them to Strucker, the most likely current head of Hydra who made a deal with Alexander Pierce. Lukin is dead and their attempt to take Steve and revive the Red Skull has failed. James did not know of Zola, and from the sound of it, neither did Bucky.

Zola will try to take over JARVIS, Stark is sure. So their first task will be to take the Tower. If Zola can get into JARVIS, the damage would be irreparable. JARVIS is the most capable program any of them know of, and could potentially be used to secure nuclear launch codes. They also need to secure Sam, who is being held in the base Bucky came from.

Then there is the matter of Bucky.

James does not trust him, and they can not be sure he is not currently a puppet of Hydra, the Maximoffs, as well. The small signs of his anger are only minimally reassuring, though Steve seems more and more relieved each time James sees him spot a moment of them.

They have little choice. Time is closing.

They split into two teams: Stark, Rhodes, Natasha, Thor, and the Maximoffs are to take the Tower. Himself, Steve, Bucky, Banner, and Barton are to take Pierce and the base. Ms. Potts will use a secure line of Barton’s to get in contact with Coulson and Fury and plan for anything resulting from their attacks that they cannot secure on their own.

They part ways, armed with what Bucky could spare and Pietro Maximoff could retrieve (all checked by Natalia and himself). The others leave with attempts at reassurance or false bravado. He stays close to Steve, shares a look with Natalia about the twins that she inclines her head to, and then returns his focus back to Bucky.

Bucky’s eyes linger on the Maximoffs before they start heading back into the city.

\--

“Cables secure,” the last agent reports.

“ _Excellent_ ,” Zola replies, “ _Let us begin_.”

“Go and guard the perimeter,” Strucker orders, “Secure the ground floors and reinforce the roof.”

“Sir,” the agents reply, moving out.

“They will undoubtedly come,” he says to the sound of receding bootsteps.

“ _Of course_ ,” Zola replies, “ _But, we planned for this_.”

Strucker’s lips curl up, despite the pain.

\--

“Alright,” Steve says, crouching low with his shield behind the corner. He peeks around it at the bank building from under his hood. “We don't have comms, so everyone needs to stick with the plan.”

“Not that there's much of one,” Clint quips. Steve raises an eyebrow and Clint lightly shrugs his wings.

“They will be expecting a coordinated attack,” James says. Steve nods.

“You’re sure the whole building is Hydra?” he asks, looking to Bucky.

Bucky nods, then hesitates. “What are you-” he starts.

“Bruce,” Steve cuts him off, looking over to Bruce, “Keep it isolated to that building _only_.”

Bruce nods and pulls his glasses off, eyes flashing green and bright in the dark.

\--

_**BOOM-SHHHHH.** _

The building shakes with the impact? Explosion? Cement dust shaken loose down from the ceiling.

“ _What the **hell** was that?_ ” Pierce demands, and then an inhuman _roar_ sends a _chill_ down his spine. “ _Shit_ ,” he curses, gesturing to the scrambling surrounding agents, “ _Find them and hold them off!_ ” he orders, “You five!” he points, “ _With me_ ,” and starts running for the prison hold, five agents in tow.

There's another _crash_ and _roar_ and he stumbles, some of the ceiling coming down.

"Rogers wants to play risky, we'll just have to do the same,” he says, pushing himself off the wall and continuing down the hall.

Three corners and another rumble later and he gestures for the agent to open the door. As soon as he does, the agent gets a knife to the throat, letting out a gagging sound before his gun is grabbed and his body kicked back, gun trained on them, and theirs on the prisoner.

“Gentlemen,” Wilson says, blood trailing down from a cut at the top of his head and face half covered in cement dust, “That’s my ride.”

“I'm afraid I can't let you go just yet,” Pierce replies, all of them stumbling a little when the building rocks again, gunfire going off in the distance _and_ close. Too close.

“I don’t think you have a choice,” Wilson says, and Pierce catches something in his periphery, eyes widening.

He ducks, shield hitting three of the agents and an arrow getting the other. Bootsteps slow and Pierce slowly stands, raising his hands.

“Alexander Pierce,” Rogers says, slowing to a stop.

“Captain Rogers,” he replies. The other one levels an arrow at his eye.

“You’re coming with us.”

Pierce just watches them and starts walking when the man with the bow gestures a wing.

“Sam,” Steve says, wings sagging slightly in relief.

“Little reckless, don't you think?” Sam jokes, reaching in to grab the cat carrier.

“Well, you know me,” Steve replies, smiling with a light shrug of his wings.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, I know you,” he replies. Steve’s wings flare a little and his eyes widen and light up when he spots the carrier. “Now let's get Maya back to James before he kills the whole building.”

The cats kick up a fuss at all the jostling, but they keep running.

\--

Stark whips his head around when the cloud of debris kicks up with a low _boom_ a couple miles away, wings twitching.

“Looks like Operation Rescue Wilson is under way,” he quips, turning back towards the Tower, “Let's get on with part two, shall we? _Thor_.”

“ _And you're sure this won't just power them up?_ ” Rhodes asks over the sound of Thor’s hammer spinning.

“ _Well, **mostly** sure_ ,” Tony calls back, squinting and trying to keep his wings from flapping around when the wind picks up, storm clouds gathering.

Rhodes shoots him a look but Thor’s already taking off, metallic wings flapping and taking him high above the Tower. Tony has to shield his eyes when the lightning rains down, enveloping the Tower in bright blue-white from top to bottom with a deafening _**CRACK**_. Tony squeezes his eyes shut and hopes for the best.

\--

“ _Ninety-eight percent complete_ -”

The power surges then cuts out, computer banks sparking bright and then fading into the sudden dark.

“They're here,” Strucker says, flicking open the laptop in his lap.

“ _Stark!_ ” Zola lets out from the screen, voice more distorted than usual, “ _Quickly! The backup generator!_ ”

Strucker gestures the agents to set it up and they hurry to obey, quickly hooking the wires in. They connect the laptop back into the mainframe after a few banks spark and a couple flicker back on, the laptop screen _fuzzing_ briefly.

“ _Download resuming_ ,” Zola announces like the cat that got the canary, “ _Keep them busy!_ ” Strucker jerks his chin and gestures for the agents to guard the room and they scurry across the room to follow their orders.

\--

“So get me up to speed,” Sam says as they jog down the halls and around and over rubble in the corridors, handing the carrier up to Steve before climbing up after him back onto what looks like the ground floor. So they were keeping him _under_ ground.

“Bucky was wiped,” Steve answers quietly among the various, annoyed _cat_ _mreows_ , jogging after Pierce and Clint and keeping the carrier close, “He's agreed to help us take down Hydra and he's working with a pair of twins with powers we've never seen before.” He dodges more rubble, focusing on the distant sound of gunfire for a moment. “She can get in your head and he can run really, really fast. They're with Stark, Thor, Nat, and Colonel Rhodes trying to stop Zola and take back the Tower.

“James?” Sam asks after a pause.

“Paired with Bucky,” Steve answers, glancing over at him, “Doesn't trust him.”

“Makes sense,” Sam replies. Steve’s lips flatten. “Wait,” Sam says after another hall, the gunfire getting louder, “I missed meeting Colonel Rhodes?!”

\--

“Avengers!” Stark shouts, holding his side. He glances at the twins who glance back. “And co,” he adds, “Get’em out of the Tower!” Thor leads the charge with the twins following, the Hydra agents firing. Natasha darts off to the left while Tony darts as fast as he can behind the nearest cover, Rhodey following him while firing back.

“Rhodey! Romanoff! Get me to a server!” Tony calls over. Natasha works her way back over while Pietro turns into a _blur_. All of the agents go down and everyone else pauses.

“Well,” Tony clears his throat, “You two feel like joining the team?” Wanda looks to her brother who twitches his eyebrows upwards.

“Server,” Romanoff reminds, leading the way to the stairwell. Thor follows and the rest after him. Pietro clears the path.

\--

“I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish,” Pierce says, stumbling to a stop. Steve keeps watch of him while Clint peers around the corner. “I'm just one cog in the machine.”

Clint leans around quick and fires off an arrow before ducking back around the corner. Bullets nick the corner and adjacent wall before abruptly puttering out. Clint peers around the corner again then looks back and nods, walking around it. Steve gives Pierce a nudge and he starts walking, sending him a squinted look.

Bucky and James are standing in the middle of the room almost parallel to each other. It's jarring, like looking at a reversed mirror and two points in time happening all at once. At least the black paint is finally chipping off of Bucky’s wings.

Bucky’s eyes widen fractionally and James tenses slightly, eyes shifting to him.

“Where's Hulk? And what are we gonna do with him?” Clint asks, gesturing a wing towards Pierce.

“We'll look for Hulk once we get outside,” Steve replies, “It sounds like it's quieted down. We need to head to the Tower and provide back up. As for him,” he looks back to Pierce, who glances from Bucky to him, “We'll take him into custody.”

Pierce huffs a laugh.

“Custody?” he asks, “What if I said I knew the trigger word to-” he cuts off with a _gargle_ , eyes wide, wings flaring slightly. He slowly turns his head back around and Bucky's there, black wings slowly flaring high. He rips the knife out of Pierce’s chest and Pierce falls, dust clouds _puffed_ up from the impact.

Steve stares.

“I'll kill them all,” he hears, whispered, and drags his eyes up.

Bucky stares down at Pierce’s body, blood slowly pooling out across the rubble.

“I'll kill them all,” Bucky repeats, louder, shifting furious eyes up to Steve. James steps closer, then stops.

“One down,” he says quietly. Steve’s eyes shift to his, brow furrowing. James looks back, then looks to Bucky. “He needs this,” is all he says, the only thing, the only explanation. Steve wanted the man dead for what he did, of course he did, but he was going to- It feels _wrong_ , somehow, like _murder_. Taking a life shouldn’t ever feel _right_ , and it doesn't, for him, but this...this feels wrong. Steve said they were going to take him _in_.

He curls his fingers into fists.

Steve stares down at Pierce’s body while Bucky moves away in his periphery.

He hears Bucky stop.

“Ever think this is what he- _I_ , never wanted you to see?"

Steve looks back up.

Bucky stares back, cold but...deadly calm and quiet and... _tired_.

Bucky turns back around and starts hiking out of the rubble, and Steve stares after him for a minute, trying to-

 

“ _But I’m always going to be someone else, too, the person who made James in the first place. The man who splintered because he **broke.** Hydra **broke me, Steve.** I’m always gonna have that darkness, and I didn’t want it touchin’ you. _

_“I just wanted to protect you.”_

 

James nudges his wing and Steve starts walking.

He may never fully understand. That's probably part of why Bucky tried to never let him see the darkness he kept to himself, _all_ these years. What Hydra did to Steve was only a fraction of what they did to Bucky, and to James.

Steve jogs to catch up, walking alongside Bucky for a minute. They hike down the mound of rubble to the street, cars and civilians and police all around, the latter’s guns trained before very slowly lowering.

They all stop once they hit pavement and Steve nudges Bucky’s wing. Bucky straightens a little but doesn't look over.

After a minute, though, he very lightly brushes their wings together.

Steve may never fully understand, but this is enough.

It's enough.

\--

They run down the stairs, Thor _scooping_ Tony up after the first sub-level floor and then handing him off to Pietro before they're to the second.

“ _Go!_ ” he orders, and Pietro’s wings jerk, body drooping a bit under Tony's weight but he takes off, only a little slowed down.

They _jerk_ to a stop at the lowest sub-level, Tony’s hair skewed every which way, and as soon as he’s down, he runs over to the main panel, pulling it open and reaching up underneath, ignoring the pain in his side.

As soon as he turns the backup reactor back on, that’s it. Zola will be able to access the mainframe again, if he hasn’t alrea-

The huge reactor slowly comes on with a loud, low _hum_ and Tony stills, looking up.

“ _You’re too late, Mr. Stark_ ,” Zola’s distorted voice comes through... _all over_ , just like JARVIS-

JARVIS!

“ _The Tower systems are **mine.**_ ”

“Oh, yeah?” Tony smirks, practically _lunging_ for the keyboard, fingers quickly flying over the keys. The power shuts down hardly a second later and he curses, slamming his fist on the console. He needed more _time_.

Lightning _sparks_ and he whips around, wings flaring and eyes widening.

Thor aims a bolt of lightning at the arc reactor and it _crackles_ back on, light _flash-flooding_ the room. Tony whirls back around and gets his fingers back on the keys, gritting his teeth.

_Locked out._

_Locked out._

_Locked out._

_Locked out._

“ _I won’t allow you to have it back,_ ” Zola hisses, “ _Avengers Tower belongs to **Hydra.** I am sinking my data into outside systems as we speak. Soon, the United States nuclear launch codes will be mine, and the world-_ ”

“You talk too much,” Tony slams his finger on the enter key and Zola’s speech sputters, face popping up and distorting on all of the screens. “JARVIS?” Tony asks.

“ _Here, Sir_ ,” JARVIS replies, and Tony _grins._

“Let’s get rid of this snake,” he says.

“ _Gladly_ ,” JARVIS replies, and Zola _screams_.

Tony keeps typing, writing code over _code over code_ , rerouting and mass deleting any bit of Zola with JARVIS that he can find. When the screams go inhumanely high, he winces, pain lancing through his brain, one eye squeezing shut while his fingers move rapidly over the keys.

He doesn’t _stop_.

“ _ **NOOO**_ -,” Zola cuts out mid _screech_ , _sparks_ flickering with the image on the screen. It turns to white noise then goes black, and Tony watches it intently, waiting-

“ _The program has been deleted_ ,” JARVIS reports, Tony’s code quickly scrolling up the screen. His wings sag. “ _All traces deleted. Avengers Tower starting to power back online. Will that be all, Sir?_ ”

“JARVIS,” Tony sighs, dropping to his rear on the floor.

“ _Sir?_ ”

“Good job.”

“ _Thank you, Sir. You were quite capable as well._ ”

“Was that a _compliment?_ ” Tony asks incredulously, letting out a laugh. He winces at the pain in his side, but keeps laughing anyway. After a minute, he sobers up. “And the rest?”

“ _I have overrided and deleted every trace of the program Arnim Zola that has leaked into the nuclear launch system, as well as the Tower_ ,” JARVIS replies, “ _As for the remainder of Hydra, they are attempting to flee to the roof and ground floors. I have just barred their access. Also, Sir_ ,” he adds, “ _It appears Steve, Bucky, James, Doctor Banner, and Agent Barton are en route_.”

Tony lowers himself the rest of the way to the floor, staring up at the ceiling. He tilts his head back to look up at the others.

“You know, I was serious,” he says, “You guys wanna join?”

The upside down twins look at each other, wings lightly shaking out, then eventually look back.

“Is it always this crazy?” Pietro asks, and upside down Natasha turns and heads for the door.

“Only on Fridays,” she replies, disappearing out into the stairwell.

“Today’s _Thursday,_ ” Rhodey says, raising an eyebrow towards the door.

“ _Sir_ ,” JARVIS interrupts, “ _You have an incoming call from Ms. Potts._ ”

\--

Steve touches down first in front of the Tower, eyes open and hearing focused, alert. There are no shots fired as the others touch down, too, and Steve _wants_ to take that as a good sign. He walks forward and cautiously makes his way up the steps, tightening his grip on the strap of his shield.

“ _Hello, Steve_ ,” JARVIS greets as soon as he steps inside, and his wings sag a little. But-

“Are you really JARIVS?” he asks, dragging his eyes down from the ceiling to look around. There’s bullet holes everywhere, the doors shattered, blood trails and spots, but no bodies.

He hears boots on glass come to a stop behind him.

“He’s JARVIS,” Natasha answers, stairwell door closing with a _thump_ behind her, “The rest of Hydra that’s still alive in the building are locked on floors twenty-eight and eighty-three.”

“Strucker?” Bucky asks, drawing his attention while Bucky takes a couple steps forward. Natasha’s eyes shift to him.

“Alive,” she answers, raising a brow, “We’re going to question him first.”

“He won’t talk,” Bucky replies shortly.

“He will,” Natasha returns, resting a hand on her hip, “Until then, he lives.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. Steve watches his jaw and wings tense.

“The Maximoffs?” Bucky asks after a tense minute. Natasha’s wings give a slight flick.

“Consider them new members of the team,” she answers. Bucky actually _relaxes_ minutely at that. “And you?” she asks, eyes focused on him. Bucky glances over at Steve and Steve tries not to let his hope show _too_ much.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answers, looking back to her. She inclines her head slightly and then side steps, turning and gesturing out with an arm and a wing.

“Shall we?” she asks, “The communal floor hasn’t been trashed.”

“Coffee?” Clint perks up, wings fanning lightly, soft clouds of dust wafting off of them. She nods and he makes a beeline for the elevators, Bruce and Sam following with the carrier. Natasha watches Bucky for a long moment before slowly following, as well, but Steve’s sure her senses are focused on him. She doesn’t trust him like this. If he’s being honest, Steve doesn’t exactly, either, not all the way. He may be in love with Bucky, but he’s not stupid ( _regardless_ _of a few choice sayings_ ).

Steve feels James come up on his right and looks over, then back to Bucky. Bucky glances at him before walking forward, glass crunching under his boots as he heads for the elevator. Steve watches him for a moment before looking back to James.

James shakes his head slightly, skimming metal fingertips lightly down the side of his hand before twining their fingers together and pulling him towards the elevator.

Too early to tell.

-

“Zola’s been destroyed,” Natasha reports as she gets the coffeemaker started, “Tony’s working on fixing some of the damage done to the Tower, as well as handling a small situation Fury found while he was digging.”

“What situation?” Steve asks, looking over and watching James gently pick Maya up out of the carrier. James brings her in close and rubs their noses gently together to her quiet _mews_. Steve smiles slow.

“Something called Project Insight that Pierce was forefronting,” Natasha replies, filling up the electric tea kettle before plugging it in and getting that started, too, “It involves repulsor engines, so they’re coordinating with Stark while he and JARVIS work on the Tower. Carter got orders from Fury. She’s on damage control.”

“Do I even want to know?” Steve sighs, _about any of it_.

Natasha quirks her lips.

“Probably not.”

He nods, eyes eventually trailing back over to Bucky.

He’s still sitting on the farthest end of the couch, staring at the windows, the walls, the tv- Steve’s not sure. Point is, he hasn’t moved since he sat down over there, and he hasn’t talked, either.

Steve’s not sure how much he remembers, but he must slowly be remembering some things if what he said at the base was anything to go on. And if it’s like before, his memories should slowly start filtering back in over the next two weeks. If it works that way again. It might not. He might never…

 _It’s okay_. Steve’ll start from scratch. And if Bucky...if Bucky ends up needing time to himself, if they never...have, what they did before, at least he’ll be alive and living and not kept as some animal in a cage to be released when Hydra needs its teeth and claws and precision. As much as Bucky never remembering and maybe even not _wanting_ anything to do with him would hurt, if that’s what Bucky needed, Steve would give it to him in a heartbeat.

“What about your end?” Natasha asks, setting a steaming mug in front of him. He startles a little, wings flaring slightly.

“Pierce is dead,” Steve answers, wrapping both hands around the mug and inhaling the scent of _coffee_. His lips twitch when Maya is moved into his view and he presses a firm kiss to the top of her head, wings fluttering slightly when she paws at his jaw before James pulls her away. “The Hulk destroyed most of it. They were keeping Sam underground.”

“And _not_ guarded,” Sam chips in, leaning back and then sitting back up in his chair, glancing towards his wingless back, “They _really_ underestimated me.”

“Worked for you, though, didn’t it?” Clint asks, taking a long swallow of his coffee, eyes falling shut. Sam reaches over after Clint’s eyes open again and they clink mugs.

“I’ll have to ask Stark for a new pair of wings, though,” Sam frowns after he takes a swallow, “Pretty sure mine got destroyed in the fight.”

“Sorry,” Steve winces, but Sam waves him off, lips curling up when James sets _his_ kitten on the table. Sam reaches over and scoops her in close.

“It’s fine,” he replies, leaning back against the chair and shifting slightly, cradling the black ball of fur close to his stomach, “Couldn’t risk leaving these guys alone in there. Didn’t even know I was underground, anyway.”

Speaking of kittens.

Steve pushes his chair back and walks around James’ chair, reaching into the carrier to get the orange one out and hold it close to his chest. He strokes his fingers over the top of its bobbing head and then looks over at James, raising his eyebrows and wings slightly in question.

James glances over towards the living room and inclines his head slightly, but looks a little wary. Steve settles on caution and nods, padding over.

He approaches Bucky slowly from around the opposite end of the couch, giving him a wide berth. He takes a seat on the end.

Steve pets and plays with the kitten in his lap, scoops it up when it starts wandering too far and lightly trails a few feathers back and forth for it to swat at. And he ignores the eyes he can feel on him from the other end of the couch, fingers wiggling in front of Nico’s nose.

After a while, Steve’s not sure how long, he sees Bucky’s wings shift a little in his periphery and then his whole _body_ shift just a bit closer. Steve keeps his attention on Nico, lifting him up to press a kiss to his head and brush their noses together.

It’s a slow process, but Bucky slowly, _very slowly_ works his way halfway down the couch to the sound of quiet talking and mugs _clanking_ softly on the table behind them before he stops altogether. Steve waits, and waits, and when Bucky doesn’t move any closer, takes that as his cue.

“His name’s Nico,” he says softly, smiling when Nico dives into his feathers. He shakes his wing gently so the kitten tumbles back down into the side of his thigh. “James found the whole litter when he was out with Natasha and gave them to all of us.” He leaves the ‘ _and this one’s yours_ ’ unsaid, but he thinks Bucky probably picks up on it anyway.

Bucky doesn’t say anything or move closer, but Steve hears leather stretch faintly, and glances up just enough to see Bucky’s left fingers finish curling in. Maybe Bucky’s afraid he’ll hurt him.

“I didn’t want him,” he hears Bucky say quietly after another while, looking up. Bucky hesitates, wings twitching slightly. “I didn’t want him,” he repeats a little louder, “...not at first. But I...did, want him. I _wanted_ him.”

Steve scoops the kitten up then holds him out in the space between them, and Bucky pauses, eyes shifting between them once before settling on the kitten.

He reaches forward, slow, so slow, and holds a finger out, letting the kitten sniff it. It stretches forward and rubs the side of its cheek against his finger and Bucky’s wings give a small twitch, mouth falling open a little in what might be surprise. He turns his hand and reaches up, slowly and incredibly _gently_ sliding the back of his finger up the center of the kitten’s head.

That’s all he does, and after a few minutes of Bucky watching Nico and him, Steve pulls the kitten back in, rubbing his fingertips over its head with a small smile. He looks back up and Bucky’s eyes meet his, lips faintly, _almost_ curling up into something that might be a smile.

They’re all exhausted and some of them beaten, covered in soot and dust, but they’re all here and they’re all alive. That’s all Steve could really ask for.


	51. And I’ll go anywhere you want, anywhere you want, anywhere you want me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, this is hard. This is the last chapter. There won't be an epilogue in the traditional sense. I'll leave some notes at the bottom that you _should_ read _**after**_ the chapter, because they contains spoilers, and let you get on to it. (:
> 
> Music for this chapter; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7odYSkYKBLw

Steve watches Bucky on the monitor; watches his wings snap viciously before he breaks Strucker’s other hand, the twins watching from the corner. He's been at it for ten minutes, a lifetime, like this.

Natasha was able to get information out of him, not that any of them doubted she would, but it wasn't quite like this. This is...meaner, personal.

Steve keeps watching, hoping he'll understand in all the ways he can. He can’t, he knows he can't, but he's pretty sure he understands a lot more than he did before…all of this.

Bucky finally drives a knife through Strucker’s skull, Strucker’s wings sagging with his slack, bloody mouth. He stares at his body for a long moment before eventually turning towards the twins.

At that, Steve turns away.

Whatever relationship Bucky has with the twins, and Steve has his educated guesses, it's not for him to intrude in on.

He turns his chair when he hears barely-there steps and manages a smile, offering his hands out to take Maya when James is close enough, tilting his head up for a kiss as their wings brush.

That's one of the things Steve’s learned. James isn't mean like Bucky is. Steve’s been blind for so long to not see the things he does now. Bucky will inflict pain because he's angry, _emotional_ ; James only inflicts pain when he needs to, regardless of how he feels. At least, that's what Steve’s seen. He's not sure about what he hasn't. The past couple days have opened his eyes and made him realize just how little he knew about things he thought he knew best, how much he hasn't been seeing or _let_ see. He both misses the days when he thought he had it all down pat and is... _relieved_ , to understand what he does now, to be able to know the truth, though he doesn't think it was worth the cost.

James’ wing brushes his when he spins his chair to the side at the sound of the door opening, gently rubbing Maya’s ear, her high _purrs_ vibrating lightly through his fingertips.

The twins look at and give him a small nod as they go. They seem to be sticking around for the time being. Steve’s not sure if they'll take Tony up on his offer and some of the team have mixed feelings on it, but most of them are on board. Steve wouldn't mind them staying. He knows what it's like to not know what to do with the powers you've apparently been given, and what it's like to not know where that leaves you in the world, or where home is. That, and Bucky seems to have formed a war bond with them, comrades, brothers in arms. Steve wants him to have that, if he needs or wants it.

Bucky comes out a few moments later and stops, shirt splattered with blood and eyes on his (and they're so different now, different and the same all over again. How many times will they all change? It's been like seasons changing, with everything that's happened). Bucky’s mouth opens, closes. He makes to go again but stops, bloody fingers lightly curling and uncurling.

“I have a floor, here,” he says more than asks, quietly, not quite looking at him, but Steve nods.

“Yeah,” he replies, “JARVIS can take you to it. I let Sharon know what's going on and she's still busy with Ms. Potts, Coulson, and Fury, so you won't...have unexpected guests.” Steve swallows down the word ‘ _unwelcome_ ’. He doesn’t know if Sharon would be unwelcome. If he would be. They've even temporarily put Nico on Nat’s floor, at Bucky’s request, afraid he’ll break him.

Steve wants to ask Bucky what he remembers so _badly_ , but James’ wing brushes his and Steve keeps his mouth shut. He watches Bucky’s eyes briefly dart between them before he nods, heading to the elevator and disappearing.

Steve blows out a breath, looking down at Maya when she starts squirming and wriggling. He shifts her once from hand to hand before pressing a kiss to the top of her head and brushing his fingers down her spine.

“He is finding ways to settle into his skin,” James says quietly.

Steve wants to ask so many questions, but keeps them in and tilts his head up, wings fanning gently when James obliges and kisses him again.

“You taste like her,” James comments quietly, and Steve cracks a small smile, letting his eyes close when James presses their foreheads together. He opens his mouth, closes it, and James presses the sides of their wings together. “All we can do is this,” he says, and Steve swallows, the backs of his eyes stinging.

“What if he doesn't…” he whispers, but it's a pointless question in the making. He feels arms under his back and legs and his eyes fly open while he lets out a surprised sound at James scooping him up. Steve curls up with Maya wriggling but cradled against his chest, forehead coming to rest against the side of James’ jaw.

“All we can do is this,” James repeats softly, arms tightening around him.

Right. James misses Bucky, too. But- Steve gets the feeling James automatically accepts Bucky in ways Steve has to take the time to reconcile.

“It’s easier for you, isn't it?” Steve asks quietly. James heads for the elevator, quiet for a few moments.

“A reflection can change,” he finally starts to answer as the doors slide closed, enclosing them in, “But it is still you.” Steve lifts his head to look at him and James looks back. His hair’s gotten longer again, long enough for the kinds of braids Thor has.

“I just miss him. Again,” Steve says quietly, swallowing past his throat tightening, “I miss Bucky even though he's right there. Right _here_.” He brushes his wing against James’ wing for emphasis, eyes stinging hot. James slowly leans his head closer and presses lips to his forehead, and Steve closes then squeezes his eyes shut.

The elevator doors slide open and James carries him out, all the way to the bedroom where they curl up and Steve lets out some of the pain wrapped tight around his aching heart.

\--

“ _Bucky, you have an incoming call from Ms. Carter_ ,” the program- JARVIS, informs him, and he lifts his head slightly. He finishes toweling his hair and hangs the towel back on the rack, pulling a shirt on over his head.

“Answer. Voice only,” he replies quietly. A blank holoscreen appears and it feels kind of familiar, seeing it, like a memory drifting in fog across the surface of water.

The line’s quiet, but he can hear faint breathing on the other end.

“ _Hello, Bucky,_ ” she finally says softly. It makes something _twinge_ in his chest, different from the Captain- _Rogers_ , and his double- _James_. He stares at the screen for a few moments, wings shifting slightly, just once.

“Hello,” he replies, stilted. Conversation is...hard, when he’s not talking about battle or a mission. He was told he used to joke. He doesn’t really remember it, yet. They told him the memories may start filtering back in over the next two weeks. Until then, everything’s like smoke on water.

She snorts a small laugh and his lips pull down slightly, brow furrowing a bit.

“ _‘Hello’,_ ” she says, laughing again, but there’s a soft hiccup of breath on the end, not quite a gasp, not quite a sob, “ _ **God**. They told me what happened and the first thing I say is ‘hello’_.” She gradually goes quiet again. “ _Are you okay?”_ she asks after a minute _, “I mean physically_ ,” she clarifies, voice a little strained, “ _I don’t…_ ” she trails off. A soft _sigh_. “ _I want to ask how you are, but they told me that...probably wouldn’t make sense right now_.”

She’s right, it doesn’t, not exactly. Anger was the first thing he felt outside of cold calm and calculation, the first thing he felt that made the pieces of _Hydra_ start falling all around him and shook the ice loose enough that he could _act_ , but…anger is one thing, ’well being’ is something else.

And if what they told him about their relationship was true, and a part of him he doesn’t quite recognize yet tells him it is, it makes this...particularly difficult. For both of them.

“I am uninjured,” he answers, fingers curling in a little.

Quiet.

“ _You sound like James_ ,” she says softly, and his wings and fingers twitch. “ _God, I’m sorry_.” Somehow, he can picture her putting a palm to her forehead, hunching down, wings pulling in, soft but vibrant and gold- “ _I’m just- I’m glad, that you’re okay, that you’re here. I’m glad you’re here._ ” Her voice is getting more strained. His hand lifts before he can stop it and he pauses, fingers just shy of touching the screen.

“Can I see you?” he asks quietly after another minute.

Silence.

“ _JARVIS?_ ” she asks, and the screen gradients to a face, slightly turned away and palm over her mouth, eyes red rimmed and down. She forces them up and his breath stills for a moment before moving again. Her eyebrows pull together, lips curling up past the heel of her palm. “ _I’m sorry about this_ ,” she says, a little muffled, _helpless_ , he recognizes, “ _I know you don’t know me right now and I look like a cried a river like that damn song_.” She laughs quietly and his wings twitch again, fingers curling in a bit more. He almost wants to _laugh, too_. It feels like a balloon swelling a bit in his chest.

He reaches forward, fingers ghosting the screen. Her eyes widen then soften and get shinier in the light, wings curving forward a little.

He wants-

He _wants_. He’s still getting used to _that_ feeling, too, like something’s _pulling_ in his chest, in him, all over.

“Can you come here?” he asks quietly, and her eyes widen slightly before she sits up a little, turning her head to look at him fully.

“ _You want me to?_ ” she asks, hopeful and a little plugged up. She’s been crying. For him. _Him_.

He nods and after a few moments, she slowly nods back, lips curling up.

“You’re beautiful,” he says after a minute, and her lips curve higher before she lets out a laugh, little but beautiful, too.

“ _Ever the charmer_ ,” she.. _.teases_ , and _smiles._ _He made someone smile_. “ _I’ll be right over._ ”

\--

“How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Tony replies, smirking, “Not the first time I’ve been shot.” Ms. Potts smacks a wing against his and Tony jumps, wincing and sending her an apologetic look.

Steve’s lips twitch.

“Looks like we got two new members on the team,” Tony says, looking back to him, and Steve raises his head.

“They’re staying?” he asks, wings shuffling a little.

“For now,” Ms. Potts answers with a nod, “What Strucker did to them wasn’t quite what they asked for, so for the meantime, they’re settling here to try and get their feet back under them. That, and I think they want to stay close to Bucky, for now,” she adds, wings shifting.

Steve nods, smiling a little.

“And that Insight thing you guys found?” he asks.

“Romanoff’s working with Barton, Coulson, and Fury,” Tony answers, starting to push himself up with a wince before Ms. Potts pushes him back down with a hand to his chest and a stern look. He wisely resettles, wings shuffling against the sheets. “She’s going to make sure it gets buried,” Tony adds, looking back up to Steve, “Looked like something none of us want around.” Steve nods. “And Barnes?” Tony asks. Steve’s wings still.

“He’s...with Sharon right now,” he answers, trying to keep his wings from shuffling, too, “I think they need some time together. I wasn’t the only one embedded in his life.” Tony makes a conceding sound while Ms. Potts gives him a small, warm smile.

“He’ll be okay, Steve,” she reassures, and he finally lets his wings shift, lips curling up just a little.

“I hope so,” he replies, heart twinging.

He really hopes so.

Tony reaches over to find something to fiddle with, turning...whatever the part is over and over in his hands. The way he thinks.

“So, remember that thing I said we’d probably have to deal with,” he starts, and Steve tilts his head slightly in thought before nodding slowly, wings shifting slightly. Tony looks up at him. “Think it’s time,” he says, and after a minute, Steve slowly nods again.

Yeah, maybe it is.

\--

Steve blows out a breath, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his wings. He glances at the mirror again before fingertips settle on his cheek and slowly turn his head away from it, his eyes settling back on James’.

“I’m nervous,” Steve blurts, “I did USO tours for a _year_ and _dozens_ of interviews and press conferences as a Howling Commando and Avenger and I’m _nervous_.” James steps forward and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him close while James’ wings overlap his own. James presses their foreheads together and Steve makes himself _breathe_.

“I know I’m being…” Steve shifts his wings a little to gesture and James’ lips twitch up. “But this is... _different_ ,” he stresses.

James tugs him impossibly closer and pulls Steve into a kiss that sucks the breath right out of him and knocks his thoughts off center, makes his heart _thud_ and his eyes fall closed, and lasts long enough it almost make his _lungs_ burn. Their lips slide smooth and rough against each other and James’ stubble scrapes rough against his skin. It’s _grounding_. James eventually pulls back and Steve’s almost _dizzy_ , and not just from not breathing.

James stares at him and Steve stares back, pulling in another breath, and another.

“You don’t even have to _say_ anything and I calm down,” he mutters, lips tugging down, “Unfair.” James’ just twitch up again before pulling him into another kiss, making Steve’s lips slowly curl up, too.

“ _I love you_ ,” James whispers when their lips part a hairsbreadth away. Steve’s wings sag before wrapping forward under James’, arms moving with them to wrap around his back and waist. Steve kisses him again and pulls _him_ close, arms tightening around him. Their chests and stomachs and hips and thighs all pressing together and he goes _warm_ all over.

“ _I love you_ ,” Steve whispers back when they part again, pressing their foreheads firmly together and opening his eyes to look at him, up close.

James’ eyes are still light and cold, but they’re so _warm_ now, too, so impossibly warm. It makes Steve’s heart ache in a good way.

Bucky’s okay, or working on it, everyone’s alive, Hydra’s scattered. They have most of what they need to hunt them all down and it’s going to take _years_ , of course it is, but they’re going to do it.

They’ll do it.

And James is here, Steve is here, his team is here- his _family_ is here. Doing this might not change things, but Steve’s going to try. Regardless, he has what he _needs_ and finally that...It took him a long time, but that finally feels like enough.

He pulls back after a while, probably longer than he should’ve spent, and lets his fingers trail down James’ palm as he heads for the door. He stops and looks back, watches James watch him, and then turns back forward and pulls the door open, light spilling over his wings with the sunlight and camera flashes, all of it getting absorbed in the pitch of them.

It’s time to end the lies and the secrets, the deceit. It’s time for the truth, about everything, about Captain America, and about Steve Rogers _._ Whether the world accepts it and his pitch black wings doesn’t really matter beyond that, does it? Maybe it never did.

He steps forward, out into the light and commotion, the shouts and the microphones and the cameras while James waits in the shadows, just like they’ve always done.

\--

“Are you...going to be okay?” Bucky asks, wings curled in a little and body a bit tense. He’s still working on regaining his memories, but they _are_ slowly coming back, trickling in little by little, and sometimes big and raucous, too. But he’s working on it, and he’s _staying_. He even let Nico back onto his floor this morning, _and_ Sharon.

Steve smiles and nods, wings flicking once at his back. He stretches one forward and looks at it, reaches up to slide his fingertips down the inner feathers, over and through the night smooth color of them. It doesn’t pull at him anymore, touching them, looking at them, letting _others_ look at them, doesn’t make him want to hide them _and_ him away in shame.

It feels…good.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, “Yeah, I’m gonna be okay,” he answers, retracting his wing after a few moments and looking back. And he _means_ it. _He actually means it._

Bucky watches him for a minute, and he _is_ more Bucky now, before slowly nodding and turning to go.

But he pauses, glancing back after a moment before slowly stretching a wing back towards him, white again and bright like a swan’s in the sunlight. Steve’s heart _thuds_ but he slowly stretches his own forward, brushing the ends of their feathers together, black and white.

Bucky’s lips twitch up, faintly, and then he slowly pulls away, heading for the elevator. Steve watches him go, and as soon as the elevator doors close, lets out a slow breath, eyes sliding shut with it.

His lips slowly curve up.

It’s not a lot yet, but it’s _everything_.

He opens his eyes after a minute and heads towards the other elevator, stopping at his apartment to check on Maya before taking the elevator down to the garage where James is waiting.

\--

The wind whips past his ears, engine loud as they speed down the road and he buries half of his face against Steve’s shoulder, wings held tight to their backs.

James’ eyes slip closed on a bend and he tightens his grip around Steve’s waist as they both lean with the motorcycle, bodies moving in unison. There’s a long stretch of road when he opens his eyes again, nothing for miles but _gold_ and _green_ and _trees_. It’s still jarring, to be able to see all this, to be counted among the things that live in the daylight.

Even with all his shadows, he’s here, _he’s_ _here_.

He gives Steve’s waist a squeeze before sitting up, tightens the grip of his thighs against Steve’s and leans his head back as he spreads his wings out, angling them up high so they cut through the wind, his hair a wild, whipping tangle of a mess behind him with his face turned up to the sun.

He spreads his arms out, hands sliding off of Steve’s sides and jacket catching the wind, billowing out and beating against his sides and chest.

He feels eyes on him but doesn’t look, doesn’t need to, just soaks the _feeling_ in and sucks in air made colder with speed and keeps his face to the warm sky, to the warmth of Steve’s attention. He opens his eyes so icy blue-gray meets sky blue, a brighter, deeper shade than Steve’s but almost as endless as they careen into nowhere. Nowhere at all.

Is this what it feels like? To be free? Wind in his chest and wings and warmth pressed against his body like sunlight and gold and... _good_ , wrapped up all in one impossible person.

He feels a warm hand grip just past his knee at the start of his thigh and his lips slowly curve up, eyes closing again as his feathers flare out to let the wind slip through them like sand through fingers, like time through glass, like thought through form, like them.

He’s...happy. He’s _happy_. He’s _free. They’re free._

James gives Steve’s thighs a squeeze back with his own and they just ride. It’s not a sunset like the movies he’s seen, but that’s okay, sunlight always suited Steve better, anyway.

 

End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kay brought up quite a few questions, and I understand if this feels somehow incomplete. I wanted to leave it open ended. I didn't want to answer every question left. I wanted it...to be that this is the point in their lives where the story arc itself ends, while they're lives continue beyond the pages. Because that's what life is. This is all we get to see. I _will_ be addressing some things in the oneshots, like if everyone's happy, how Bucky's doing, what's going on with James and Nat, if Sam got his new wings and how he likes them (and got to meet Rhodey), _maybe_ how the media handled Steve's wings. Honestly, for that last one, I think Steve kind of answered it himself. It doesn't matter to him how the world perceives him anymore. He's free. But if there's things about this that are bothering you, they might be popping up in the oneshots. There's even going to be some oneshots that take place _during_ what went on this story, little blips that didn't make it in (and one _really important one that **needs** to happen because I thought maybe it had but I don't think it did! !!_ ). So yeah, there will be more, but as a whole, the main story is over.
> 
> It's hard to wrap my head around that and I kind of feel like crying. It's been over a year and while that doesn't bother me, it's...been a while. It kind of feels like it's only been a few months or so. Thank you, guys, for sticking it out with me (and the small typos here and there I definitely need to comb through it again, like with Ghosts), for telling me your thoughts and encouraging and _enjoying the story and characters._ That's the most important part _(especially James, but I'm biased pfff)._ I mostly write for me, like some of you have probably heard me say already before, but I'm _glad (you've heard me say that five million too many times too)_ that you enjoyed it with me. That's all that really matters. (: Thank you guys.  <3 It means a lot.
> 
> Thank you Gina (aprofessorstale) for betaing the start of this behemoth and helping me with ideas back and forth, and thank you Kay (stringlish) for picking up the betaing and flailing with me about James _~~sweetie~~_ and tossing ideas back and forth, too. I don't think I could have made this what it is without either of you, and I'm really thankful and appreciative (which goes with the month doesn't it I'm so clever).
> 
> Thank you to everyone. It's been an amazing ride. <33


	52. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just to let everyone know that a oneshot has been added and I've turned this work into a series. I'm just not sure if it notified everyone who had bookmarked/subscribed to the main story fjsdkl. Sorry if it's a redundancy! Thank you for reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just to let everyone know that a oneshot has been added and I've turned this work into a series. I'm just not sure if it notified everyone who had bookmarked/subscribed to the main story fjsdkl. Sorry if it's a redundancy! Thank you for reading.

This is just to let everyone know that a oneshot has been added and I've turned this work into a series. I'm just not sure if it notified everyone who had bookmarked/subscribed to the main story fjsdkl. Sorry if it's a redundancy! Thank you for reading.


End file.
